


Life and Death in New Orleans -an LLI side story

by Terri Botta (Isilwath)



Series: Let Love In [4]
Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilwath/pseuds/Terri%20Botta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric and Sookie go to New Orleans to deal with the threat of Victor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the next short story in the LLI universe. It follows Let Love In, Kodak Moment and Best Laid Plans. If you have not read Let Love In, this story will make no sense to you. It takes place in early March 2006. In 2006, New Orleans had its first Mardi Gras after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita devastated the city. It was a small Mardi Gras, and Fat Tuesday was on Feb 28th 2006. LDiNOLA takes place on the Sunday immediately following Mardi Gras, so it is March 5th, 2006.
> 
> Also, the story alludes to Eric and Sookie getting married. This happened at an earlier time, and I have NOT written that story.

Life and Death in New Orleans

A Let Love In side story

            By Terri Botta

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Southern Vampires. Sole copyright belongs to Charlaine Harris. I’m poor so don’t sue.

Rating: M for later chapters.

Timeframe: Post-From Dead to Worse

Pairing: Eric/Sookie

Summary: Eric and Sookie head down to New Orleans to take care of business.

* * *

            She helps him dye his hair. She has never done such a thing before, but he is a master of disguise and well versed in these arts. A thousand years of pretending to be something he is not has given him a decided edge. Back then it was lead oxide and henna, now it is L’oreal. The procedure is much the same.

            She hands him the bottles of dye and developing cream, much like a Norseman’s wife would hand him his shield and sword. These are the weapons he will take into battle. He puts on long latex gloves and a smock, then he heavily coats his face, neck and ears with petroleum jelly to protect it from the dye. The color must look natural or else they will rouse suspicion.

            They have been careful, so careful. No one can trace the purchase of the dye back to either of them, nor the other… acquisitions they have procured for their mission. Some of the items would have raised many eyebrows, but Tom Collins is a nobody. Just a name on a credit card and an address. No one is the wiser. No one suspects, not even his beloved Pam who he has purposefully left in the dark for her own protection.

            He mixes the dye and developer in the squeeze bottle – ah the wonders of plastic. It has greatly minimized the mess of the procedure. His mate has covered the bathroom floor with a cotton drop cloth. It will be burned when they are finished, and the plastics taken with them to dispose of somewhere along the way. There must be no evidence left for anyone to find.

            She sits on the commode and watches him as he spreads the mixed dye on his scalp and long tresses. He uses two full bottles of blue-black colorant and makes sure the coating is even by combing through his hair with a wide-toothed comb. It, too, will be disposed of once it has served its purpose. Once the dye is applied, she hands him the clear processing cap and helps him put it on, tucking all of his sodden locks into the plastic snood.

            He knows she wants to laugh, but the seriousness of their mission keeps her silent. He smiles for her and whispers something about how it will be the last time she ever sees him in a smock and shower cap. She snickers and says she’ll dress him up as Dr. Frankenstein for Halloween so she can put him a “mad scientist’s” lab coat and gloves.

            “No, no,” he says. “I would rather be that mean doctor from  _Scrubs_. The one everyone fears.”

            That gets a real laugh out of her.

            When the fifteen-minute processing time is over, he instructs her to wait ten minutes before filling the soaking tub with hot water. He will need it to warm up when he gets back. Then he goes out into the cold March night and finds a clear running stream to dunk himself in because he will not rinse out the dye anywhere near any of their nests, especially their Ruston house. When he finds what he needs, he strips off his clothes and immerses himself in the frigid water. It is a good thing vampires can’t die of hypothermia because it takes a long time to wash out all of the coloring.

            When he is done, his hair is ebony. Perfect.

            On his way back, he lights the fire that he has already laid in a pit adjacent to the driveway. He throws the gloves and smock and his clothes into it, then enters the house naked. His mate gasps when he returns. He thinks his appearance shocks her. Even though she knew what he was doing, and watched him do it, somehow the sight of him with black hair still startles her. She reaches out to touch it lightly, as if she is afraid it is a mirage.

            “It’s all wrong on you,” she whispers.

            He gives her a tender smile. “Not to worry, my lover. I will shave it all off, and it will grow back its natural blonde over the course of the day.”

            “Will you save it?”

            “No. We’ll burn it like we agreed.”

            “I don’t know which will be worse. Seeing you like this, or seeing you with shorn hair.” Her eyes fill up with tears. “It seems so terrible for you to do this. I love your hair.”

            He wants to kiss her, but he is ice cold from his bath in the stream. “When I was alive, to cut a man’s hair and shave his beard was a punishment. Men who were disgraced were shorn and shaved. But what I have done is no penance, my love. It is a willing sacrifice. And my hair will be back by Tuesday. Two days is not all that long a time.”

            “No.”

            She leaves him long enough to tend the pyre outside, and to add the towels and drop cloth to the flames, then she returns to sit beside him on the edge of the tub as he soaks the chill out of his dead body. They had sex earlier, but now they will not have sex again until at least they get to New Orleans. He thinks this is a pity because she is wound up tighter than a spring and an orgasm or two would do wonders for her stress. But she is not “in the mood,” and he feels this. He could push the issue, but he chooses not to. They are on a limited timetable.

            “Is everything ready?” he asks.

            “Yes, I put the bags in the truck.”

            There is a late model pick-up with South Dakota plates sitting in the driveway. It will be junked in less than 48-hours.

            “Excellent, my lover. Do you have everything you need laid out?”

            She swallows and nods, and her reluctance gives him pause.

            “You can still change your mind, you know,” he tells her.

            She gets that stubborn look on her face that he both dreads and adores, and shakes her head. “No. It’s the best disguise. No one will ever suspect us.”

            “That is very true, but if the ruse hurts you…”

            “I’m okay with it,” she says swiftly.

            He doesn’t believe her, but he also does not push that issue either. It is something he can do nothing about, so dredging the realities into the light will do them no good.

            He is warm enough now so he rises from the tub, sloshing water on the floor purposefully just to tease her because his refusal to tidy up after himself is an ongoing argument. He hears her exasperated sigh and feels her irritation as he carelessly leaves a trail of wet footprints and dye-stained towels behind him. He laughs when he hears her cursing under her breath – as if he cannot hear the litany of admonishments coming from her mind.

            He goes to “her” bedroom because there is a vanity there with a lit mirror and a supply of cosmetics that he purchased specifically for this night. His hair is still damp, so he pats it down with yet another towel that he drops on the floor just as she comes stomping in, and he smirks at her as she grabs it and stomps down the hall to throw it with the others onto the pyre outside. They bought two six-packs of cheap bath towels at Wal-mart, knowing they would be burned once they were used. Again, there must be no evidence. No scrap or clue left behind.

            He pulls on the long-sleeved, flannel shirt and faded, second-hand jeans he bought for his disguise, and sits at the vanity, perusing his choices and deciding what is next.

             _‘Hair,’_  he concludes, and begins brushing his black locks in preparation for putting them into two long braids that will be wrapped in red cloth.

            His mate comes in and sits quietly on the bed, bearing witness to his transformation from undead Viking to red skinned warrior. She watches as he separates his hair along a central part and braids it quickly. The strips of red cotton are already laid out and waiting, and he sees her looking at him in the mirror as he winds the cloth around each braid, tying it off at the bottom by tucking it into itself. The Lakota didn’t have safety pins.

            When his hair is done, he takes the box of cosmetic powders and mixes a paint for his skin. It is different than the usual light makeup he uses for photographs. No, this paint will make him look alive again, give his white skin the deep red tan of a man born in the sun and out in it all his life. He sees his mate’s eyes open wide as he applies the mixed foundation to his face, making sure to get his ears and throat, and gives his skin an even coating of the color. He blends it into his hair, but he is not too concerned about the hairline. He has a hat for his head.

            He uses mixed kohl to color his eyebrows the same hue as his hair and powders the matte makeup to seal it. When he is finished all that is left is for him to put in the colored contact lenses that will turn his blue eyes dark brown, but he will not put them in until the last moment because they irritate his eyes. He finishes off his costume with genuine Native American jewelry: a pipe bone choker, a dangling turquoise earring (his mate gasped when he just shoved the post through his ear lobe), a bear claw necklace, and carved bone buffalo belt buckle. The only non-costume pieces of jewelry he wears are his Hammer, Elena’s ring of protection and his platinum wedding band, and he smiles at them fondly. It is almost a shame to cover the rings with the gloves he will use to hide his pallor and prevent fingerprints.

            When his metamorphosis is complete, he turns to face his bonded, looking at her from his seat. She covers her mouth with her hands and shakes her head.

            “I wouldn’t recognize you if stood in front of me with your fangs down,” she whispers, her eyes wide.

            He smiles. “That is a high compliment if I can fool my very own wife and bonded.”

            His mention of her as his wife makes her glance down at her left hand, and he sees the light flash off her wedding ring. He reaches out to grasp her palm and kisses the platinum band with its small inset of diamonds. It does not look like a piece of jewelry that is worth what he paid for it, but the finger that bears it is priceless.

            “I should play dress-up for you more often. I’m told I make a very convincing queen,” he teases.

            She laughs. “I can’t imagine you in stockings and heels.”

            He grins. “You obviously never paid much attention to the fashion of Europe in the 18th Century.”

            She snickers as he stands, bending to kiss her, but she pulls back.

            “Won’t that mess up your makeup?” she asks.

            He shakes his head. “No, my lover. This makeup was designed to last all day under hot lights and weather. It isn’t going anywhere until I take it off.”

            “Oh,” she says and smiles as his lips touch hers. “You look like a real Indian. Are you going to carry me off like a red raider and ravish me until I beg for mercy?”

            “That might be a fun game for later. I think I remember a few Sioux war cries.”

            “Just so long as you don’t try to scalp me,” she warns playfully.

            “Never. I adore your hair,” he murmurs, kissing her again.

            She deepens the kiss, needing the contact and reassurance. He strokes her back comfortingly, and lets her take what she needs from him, because now it is her turn to sit at the vanity, and she must begin her own metamorphosis. Her disguise is not nearly as involved or complex as his own, but her transformation will be nearly as startling.

            She places herself in the spot he just vacated and relaxes as he brushes her hair until it is very smooth. There is a wig for her to wear so he takes her long, blond locks and pulls them back, securing them with a band at the nape of her neck. Then he folds her hair up over her head and holds it in place while he fits the wig cap on from the nape forward, flattening her hair underneath the snug material and tucking in the loose ends until all of it is hidden under the cap.

            “I know you’ve done this before, but it’s still strange to see how well you do it,” his mate says in a conversational tone that is anything but.

            He shrugs and makes sure no tendrils are peeking out. She is thinking about the last time she wore a wig – in Dallas on that fateful day she was trapped and almost raped by that son of a bitch from the Fellowship of the Sun. Had that blood bag succeeded in violating her, he would have known no bounds to deliver his retribution. Not even Compton would have believed the violence he would have visited upon Gabe had the human survived his meeting with Godfrey, and Sookie hadn’t even been his at that time. Had she been his… Well, lets just say that there would have been many more casualties than there actually were that night, and Gabe would have been begging for death. As far as he is concerned Godfrey hadn’t made him suffer nearly enough.

            He huffs to clear the red haze that has fallen over his vision. His bonded felt his irritation, but she recognized its source, so she stayed quiet and still until he shook it off. He smiles at her, and kisses the wig cap, before fitting the auburn-colored, shoulder length hairpiece onto her head.

            He remembers that the wig Compton bought for her was short and brown. The color was all wrong for her eyes and skin tone. Even if Isabel’s human pet hadn’t betrayed them, her disguise would have been discovered. Not so with any of his disguises. He has chosen a color that will not raise flags, and no one will be able to tell that it is not her natural hair by the time he finishes with her.

            Once the wig is in place, he colors her eyebrows with dark red powder just enough to make them match the color of the hairpiece. She recently went to the tanning salon so her skin has a summery glow to it, but he dusts her face with a slightly darker shade just to even out the tone. She has contacts that will turn her blue eyes green, but they, like his own, will go in last.

            The most significant part of his bonded’s disguise is not the makeup, but the prosthetic she had him purchase. Fitted over her shoulders and tied to her waist, it will give her the appearance of pregnancy once she is dressed. There were many models to choose from in the on-line store, but she chose the one that will make her look six months along – enough to be showing, but not so much as to make her uncomfortable or unable to get around easily.

            It was all her idea. He would never open that wound on purpose.

            He helps her fit the stuffed bodice so that it rests in the proper place just below her breasts. There were models with built-in extra padding there, but his mate has enough natural bounty so as to not need it. Their feelings are mixed as she slips the blue floral maternity dress over her head and buttons up the front. Warm, calf-high sheepskin boots will hide her non-existent swollen ankles.

            His eyes meet hers, and he once again offers her a way out.

            “You don’t have to do this.”

            She shakes her head. “No. No one will be looking for an Indian and his pregnant wife. It’s the best way.”

            He nods, giving in because it really was a stroke of brilliance, and he was stunned when she suggested it. He never thought she would ever poke that hole in her life with such a sharp stick.

            It is not something they have discussed, but he has seen the wistful look she gets in her eyes when she sees a mother and child. He can give her the world, but the one thing he cannot give her is a child from his own loins. He does not say he cannot give her a child. He does not even say that he cannot see to it that she bears her own infant. Technology being what it is these days, if his mate truly wished to become pregnant and give birth, he could see it done.

            He can even see to it that she carried a child that could be traced back to his own bloodline. It is a very closely guarded secret that he fathered an illegitimate child while he was alive. He did not know about the boy until after he was turned, but he did discover his existence some years later when he dared to sneak a quick peek to see how his father and mother were faring in his absence. By that time, four of his six siblings were dead, including two of his three brothers and one of his sisters, and all that were left were his little sister, Edda, and his youngest brother, Björn.

            Since all one had to do was take a look at the bastard child to know who had sired him, his father had acknowledged the boy and brought him into the household. He’d even named the child Erik in memory of his deceased eldest, and raised him as his own son. Eric had been proud of his father, and proud of the boy who grew up to be a merchant instead of a raider – and thus lived long enough to marry and sire children of his own.

            Eric has kept an eye on Erik’s descendants, and, theoretically, he can find one of them to use as a donor if his mate wishes to carry a child related to him. He also acknowledges the very real possibility that, if they wait long enough, someone will discover a way to resurrect viable DNA from a vampire’s dead flesh, and it could become possible for him to sire a child himself.

            He knows that there are many vampires who wish to be able to father children. He thinks he will see this happen in his lifetime, but he doubts it will ever be possible for vampire females to become pregnant. It is one thing to harvest genetic material to use in fertilization. It is another thing entirely to gestate a living thing within a dead one. Even if it were possible, he cannot even begin to imagine how screwed up any child would be that had developed inside a cold womb with no motherly heartbeat to offer comfort and reassurance.

            When she is finished putting on her disguise, they face the full-length mirror on the closet door, and look at each other in the reflective surface. Once the contact lenses are in, not even their closest friends will recognize them, but that is the point, isn’t it? He does not comment on how it makes him feel to see her looking with child, and the muddy currents of emotions such a vision presents to both of them.

            He sees his alternate self nod in the mirror, and his mate nods back. Her hand reaches for his in the image, and he grasps it lightly in his own, threading his fingers into hers. She is his world. His sun and his moon. He will do anything for her, and he is sure that he will before all of this is over.

            They wait a moment more, then decide that it is time. He packs up the cosmetics, knowing that they both will need to do touch-ups over the course of the next 36-hours, and does a final check to ensure that they have not forgotten anything. He makes sure he has the cases with the contacts, and the precious box of enchanted mint leaves, then he puts on an old sheepskin coat and a wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat with an assortment of feathers stuck under the band. His mate slips a multi-colored woolen shawl around her shoulders, and she looks like a real Lakota’s woman as they head out to their rusted, beat up truck.

            He checks the burning pyre on the edge of the driveway, making sure the drop cloth and towels and the clothes he wore to dye his hair are completely reduced to ash. He stirs the smoldering pile to inspect what is left, then, satisfied, he douses the flames with the hose. When it is nothing more than a harmless pile of sodden ash and residual smoke, he buries it and then reaches for his mate and guides her to the truck.

            They get in and she finds the little gift he bought her – a small bouquet of Prairie wildflowers wrapped in crinkly paper and placed on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat. She gives him a small smile and raises the flowers to her nose as he turns the key in the ignition and brings the old behemoth to life. It grumbles like an angry bear, and sputters a time or two, but then it lurches into gear and begins rolling down the driveway. He frowns. Nothing about the truck is sleek or fast, but it is all part of their necessary disguises.

            He hears her giggle at his irritation, and he manages a smile. Across the ripped and faded bench seat, her hand finds his. He clasps her small palm in his much larger one, sending her courage and strength across their connection, and turns the old pick-up onto the highway, headed south to New Orleans.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

 

            It is close to 2am by the time they reach their hotel. The truck makes the trip in an excruciatingly slow five hours and uses an obscene amount of fuel, but they arrive safely and the hotel has 24-hour concierge service. At the last stop for gasoline, they both take the time to put in their contact lenses, and he slips on his gloves.

            With their disguises complete, he finishes the last leg of their journey and pulls the truck up to their hotel’s parking garage. They might be going under the radar, but he is still a Master Vampire, and he insists on some level of luxury, if only for the privacy it buys. Their reservation is for a small hotel in the French Quarter less than a block from Jackson Square, and since it is immediately after Mardi Gras, the rate is very reasonable. He chose this particular hotel for its central location and its private entrances, allowing them to come and go in relative anonymity. They are booked for both Sunday and Monday nights, but they are not planning to be there that long. If all goes well, they will leave New Orleans before sundown on Monday.

            His mate doesn’t have to fake her fatigue as he helps her out of the truck, and he tucks her in next to him as he walks through the brick archway into the lobby of the hotel. He has slung their old duffel bag with their clothes and supplies over one shoulder, and he lets her lean on his other side. She isn’t tired so much as she is hungry and weary of being in the truck cab. Her legs are cramped and, while the prosthetic does not come with a kicking fetus or pressure on her bladder, it is still a dead weight on her abdomen, and it causes her discomfort.

            But her aching back only lends credibility to her performance, so when she enters the lobby with both hands pressed to her lower back, the front desk clerk on duty does not even hesitate to give her a sympathetic look.

            He places one gloved hand on the counter while the other remains on his mate, and he waits for the woman to greet him. Her nametag reads “Brandy.”

            “Good evening. Welcome to the Place D’Armes. Do you have a reservation?”

            He nods and speaks in a gruff voice, “Rooks.”

            The woman uses her computer to look up the name and nods when she brings up their details. “James and Miriam?”

            “Yes.”

            “Reservation for March 5th, leaving on the seventh. One non-smoking, King room on the ground floor, adjacent to the courtyard,” Brandy rattles off.

            “Yes,” he confirms. He can already tell by her perky smile, and her sidelong looks at his wife, that she is going to annoy him.

            Brandy hands him the standard guest registration forms, and he passes them to “Miriam” for her to fill out. His mate doesn’t blink an eye as she steps closer to the counter and begins to write down the previously memorized names and information. She grimaces a little, and he rubs her lower back for her since her hands are busy.

            “Awww, honey. When are you due?” the clerk asks sweetly.

            “June,” his mate replies, her voice tired.

            “Awww, you’re almost done then. Won’t be long now. Those last three months just fly by. I remember when I was carryin’ my Billy. I was as big as a house. D’y’now what you’re having?”

            They have discussed this so he remains silent while his mate gives the clerk a sheepish smile and shakes her head. “We want to be surprised.”

            “Awww, that’s so sweet.”

            His mate completes the forms, and Brandy enters the information in the computer, all the while prattling on about her Billy and what happened when she was pregnant. She barely glances at the fake driver’s license he flashes at her when she asks for identification.

            “Is this your first?” the nosy busybody asks.

            “Yes,” “Miriam” replies, leaning heavily on him. She is doing it because she knows he is seconds away from smacking the woman silly, then glamouring her so she thinks she fell down the stairs.

            “Oh, the first is always the hardest. It’ll get easier with the next one. My Caitlyn just popped right out.”

            “That’s good to know,” his mate admits, but mentally she is rolling her eyes.  _‘And we thought getting here so late would make checking-in easier.’_

_‘I’m still willing to smack her senseless then glamour her.’_

_‘No. Security cameras,’_  she answers, calling his attention to the small recording devices setup behind the counter.

            He sighs. Sometimes modern technology’s a bitch.

            “Will you be using a credit card this evening?” the woman asks.

            He shakes his head and pulls out a money clip with an eagle carved on it. “No. We will pay cash.”

            He places three hundred dollars in twenties on the counter.

            “I’ll put this toward your room charge and put any extra on as room credit,” Brandy answers, taking the money and entering the amount in her computer before she stashes the bills in a locked drawer.

            He grunts and beside him his mate makes a little noise of discomfort. Her back is really hurting her now.

             _‘I don’t know how real pregnant women do it,’_  she complains.

_‘They do what they must. I will give you a massage once we are in our room.’_

_‘I’d like some food, too. That wrap I had at the truck stop off I-49 was a long time ago.’_

_‘I will be sure to feed you, my lover.’_

            “You look plum tuckered out, honey,” Brandy comments, giving his wife a soft look.

            “We have… traveled long,” he says gruffly, offering no other explanation. The Lakota are a notoriously tightlipped people when it comes to outsiders.

            “Yes. I am very tired. May we have our room key please? I need to get off my feet.” ‘ _And save your life because my mate’s a vampire, and you’re too stupid to a) recognize Death when it’s staring at you, and b) to know when Death is getting pissed off.’_

 _‘I passed pissed off five minutes ago. I’ve reached dangerously irate now,’_ he corrects.

_‘Best I get you to our room before you slaughter the entire night staff.’_

_‘I would never. We’re incognito.’_

            That earns him a little chuckle, and he gives her a soft smile.

            “Awww, y’all so sweet. Y’all look like y’all came a long way.”

            His mate gives the memorized story. “We’re driving back to South Dakota after visiting relatives in Biloxi.”

            “And y’all decided to pop in to Nawlins’ on your way? We much appreciate it. Business has been terrible since the hurricanes. Y’all just missed Mardi Gras. It weren’t no grand thing like before, but at least we had one. Showed the rest of the world that we ain’t dead.”

            He is fast losing patience, and, before his mate can stop him, he has the woman’s gaze in his sight. It works even through his contact lenses, and she freezes in mid-babble.

            “You will shut up, do your job, and give us our room key.  ** _Now_** ,” he commands.

             _‘Security cameras!’_  his mate scolds, but he pushes her concern away.

             _‘If nothing out of the ordinary happens, there will be no need for anyone to view the recording. Besides, her back is to the camera. It will look exactly like what I am: an irate husband who wants to get his wife off her feet.’_

            She can’t argue because she’s as fed up as he is, but she feels the need to play Devil’s advocate anyway.  _‘You just want to get me in bed.’_

_‘Of course. It’s been seven hours since we’ve had sex. I’m overdue.’_

            She snorts, and he releases Brandy from the glamour. The woman shakes her head, looking a bit confused, then smiles and gives them their key.

            “Here ya go. Your room is here in the far corner right off the courtyard. It’s a deluxe one bed. Very private,” the clerk says, pointing out the location on a hotel map. “There’s free breakfast offered in our breakfast room from 7am to 9am.”

            “P’ilamayaye. Thank you,” he replies, speaking both Lakota and English, and takes the key from her.

            “Y’all have a good night,” Brandy pipes brightly, smiling. He comforts himself with images of his strangling her just for the fun of it.

            “Come mit’awicu,” he says, using the Lakota word for wife, and beckons to his mate. She follows dutifully.

            The hotel is a series of restored 18th century buildings that surround a central courtyard with a pool and lush gardens. Like most of the French Quarter, it survived the hurricanes with minimal damage, and now all that is left is for tourism to pick back up. The Mardi Gras celebration the night clerk mentioned was a pale ghost compared to years past, but the woman was right about one thing: at least they’d had it. Not even the flooding of 80-percent of the city can kill the Carnivale spirit. Perhaps the beleaguered residents of New Orleans needed their party most of all. He saw images from the parades. Some of the floats still had the marks where the floodwaters stained them.

            The courtyard is full of magnolia trees and fragrant greenery that must be beautiful in daylight, and he finds himself looking forward to seeing it for himself. There is a small swimming pool that is lightly illuminated even at this time of night, and the soft glow coming off the water is more than enough light to see by as they follow the well-kept and manicured pathways to their room. The room itself is lovely, very French with pale yellow and cream vertical striped wallpaper and a King bed with a wrought iron headboard. The duvet has been turned down and a fresh bouquet of flowers has been placed on the dresser.

            “Ooohhhh,” his mate sighs and sinks down to the mattress.

            She kicks off the boots and curls her toes into the carpet, her eyes closing in bliss. It is a beautiful sight.

            “I know it’s late, and we have so much to do, but all I want to do is eat and take a nap,” she admits, scratching at an itchy spot just under the brow of the wig. “Maybe when I wake, this will all be over.”

            He can feel her tension through the bond. She knows that what they are planning to do is necessary for their own survival, and the actual act of it does not bother her, it is her fear of what he will do – how far he will take it – that is of worry to her. She does not want it to be messy or cruel. He plans to make it both, but he is doing his best to conceal that from her because he does not intend to have her present for it.

            “It will be over, my lover. It will be over very soon,” he promises.

            She looks at him, her eyes haunted behind the green contact lenses. There is a multitude of questions and words in her expression, but none leave her lips. Instead she closes her eyes again and lets out a deep breath, her brow creased and her shoulders tense. Well, there is plenty he can do about that, and he still owes her a backrub.

            He drops the duffel bag to the thick carpet, making her open her eyes and look at him curiously. He gives her a sexy smile and saunters over to her, putting the swing in his hips that he knows will arouse her. She loves his body. She loves to see him move, and he knows how to work his form to his best advantage. He knows immediately when he’s caught her interest because her mood shifts from food and sleep to satisfying more primal needs.

            “What are you doing?” she asks coyly, but she is already starting to smile.

            “Aren’t I allowed to be hungry? You ate on the road. I’ve had none since early this evening.”

            “You could have had a True Blood at that truck stop, but you said no,” she points out, but she’s already parting her legs.

            “Why should I have water when I can have ale?”

            “Ale not wine? Isn’t the line why should I have water when I can have wine?”

            He lowers himself down to one knee before her, his hand on her thigh. “I’ve never liked wine.”

            Her lips part, revealing her front teeth. “You do look like a beer man to me.”

            He leans forward to kiss her. “A wise assessment from an excellent  _former_  barmaid.”

            His lips touch hers, feather light, his tongue flicking out to lick her bottom lip ever so slightly. She gasps and begins to unbutton the top of her dress.

            “Leave it on,” he breathes, inhaling her scent, allowing his desire to rise and spread throughout his body. The raging fires of new passion may have started to wane, but he still craves her like a seedling craves the sun, and he is encouraged by her own craving for him.

            She chuckles into his mouth, and he gives her a little wink before he pushes her down to the bed, making her fall back with her legs still dangling off the end of the mattress. Her feet barely touch the carpet.

             _‘Don’t rip my panties. I only packed two pairs,’_ she warns, her fingers digging into the duvet in preparation for the pleasure he is about to bestow upon her.

            He kisses her wedding ring on his way down lower. He never thought marrying her under human law would have such an effect on him, but the legal right to call her “wife” has had profound repercussions. He didn’t know it would mean so much until it was given to him in the form of the words “I do.”

            Smirking, he pushes up the maternity dress to bare her hips and pulls down her panties. He dangles the underwear off of one finger to show her that it is indeed intact, and then he tosses the scrap of cloth over his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to see where it lands. In moments he has nestled his face into her dark blonde hair and is settling into the business of relieving her tension. She is lush and fragrant, and he loves the feel of her tiny curls brushing against his nose.

            She once asked him if he thought she should get a Brazilian – type of intimate hair waxing that removes all of the hair from a woman’s privates. Considering that she’d asked him when his mouth was full of her luscious taste, his sinuses were flooded with the heady scent of her sex, and her arousal was singing like a Diva across their bond, it had been hard for him to pull himself out of his lust-filled haze to ask, “What?”

            “Would you like it better if I were bare?” she’d questioned. “I’ve been told that it… feels good to not have hair down there.”

            He’d blinked slowly, trying to make sense out of the English she appeared to be speaking, but hearing only his need screaming in his ears. He was hard and aching, and she was asking him to think. He finally was able to pluck the image of what she’d had in mind from her brain, and he gave her an incredulous look.

            “My lover, if it were up to me you wouldn’t even shave your legs. I like you natural, as the Goddess intended you to be, hair and all,” he’d answered, then returned to his task and made her forget why she was asking such stupid questions.

            It never ceased to amaze him how women could think of things other than sex while they were having sex. When he was having sex, all he could think about was what he was doing, but he’d once caught a stray thought coming from his lover while they were in the middle of things where she was wondering if she’d plugged in her cell phone to recharge it before they’d gone to bed. He’d wanted to yell, “I’m fucking you! What are you doing thinking about cell phones?” but he hadn’t. Instead he’d recaptured her attention by giving her a hard thrust aimed to strike her pleasure center. It had worked, and all thoughts of phones had gone right out of her head.

            But he was surprised by how often her mind wandered. At first he thought he was doing something wrong, but then he realized that it was just a quirk of the human female mind to be able to think about multiple things at once. It seemed that any little thing could distract her from what they were doing: a sound, a scent, a stray thought, and her mind would go off on a tangent before she made herself refocus. It didn’t seem to adversely effect her enjoyment of their lovemaking, but he did notice that if he kept her on point, her orgasms were that much more powerful, so it became a mission of his to notice when she was starting to slip away and bring her back to the subject at hand.

            It was a very interesting insight. Just when he thought he knew all there was to know about sex with human women, his mate gave him a new peek into the female psyche, and he wonders if he’s found a key to making sure his lover has even stronger and more satisfying climaxes. Perhaps all of those times he’d been with a woman and known he hadn’t pleased her as much as he could have, she’d been thinking of laundry or a new dress or a spot on the ceiling, and he hadn’t known to give her something better to focus on.

            Now when he senses that he is losing his mate’s full attention, he changes his angle or thrusts hard enough to make her breasts bounce. It’s all part of his plan to make sure his bonded stays happy and satisfied. Like now, when he is pleasuring her, making her moan and her thighs quiver. The angle is a little wrong, and she is straining, so he hooks his hands under her knees and pushes them up, curling her spine and giving him better access. He is rewarded by her pleading gasps and the scent of her body’s approval.

            Her blood is singing to him so he balances one of her feet on his shoulder so he can slide his fingers into her and bite her artery. She jerks and cries out as he punctures her skin, and he feels her reach her first climax as he draws on the wounds.

            “Eric… Eric…” she pants.

            That is his cue to give her what she really wants, and that is his full length, hard and ready to take her. He unzips the old jeans as he rises up to cover her, and he is rewarded when she grabs him to guide him home, her fingers trembling. She is rounder with the prosthetic, but he manages, and gives her a quick, hard ride with deep thrusts and a finger to her center to hurry her along. He does not allow himself to come until she has given him her second orgasm, her walls clamping down and holding him inside her, but he is ready to release the moment he feels her crest. He shudders as he empties himself into her, feeling her soul reach for him across their bond and his own soul responding. Their union in that moment is complete and perfect, and he cannot imagine any afterlife or celestial reward that can top what he feels right now.

            Afterwards he kisses and cuddles with her, knowing he will have to redo part of his makeup because, while it was made to withstand lots of things, cunnilingus isn’t one of them. She kisses her own juices off his lips, then laughs at the smears.

            “I made a mess of you,” she comments fondly.

            “Always,” he replies, smiling and holding her close.

            She sighs, her hand resting lightly on her “womb,” her face wistful. “I like this room. This is a nice hotel.”

            “The décor is a bit dated, but I agree that it is very nice.”

            She nods and her stomach growls loudly. He snickers, sitting up. “And on that note…” He picks up the phone and dials the front desk. When the perky clerk answers, he speaks in a low, rough voice. “This is James Rooks. My wife is hungry. Where is there a place to find food this late?”

            “Two am cravings, huh?” Brandy comments. “Well, Verti Marte over on Royal is open 24-hrs a day, and it has sandwiches and salads available. They deliver too. I can give you their number.”

            “We are grateful for your help,” he replies.

            “No problem,” the woman says, rattling off the phone number. He memorizes it instantly.

            “P’ilamayaye,” he answers.

            “Huh? What’s that, sugar?”

            He snorts. “I am sorry. I meant to say thank you.”

            “Anytime. You take good care of that little woman of yours, y’hear?”

            He hangs up without bothering to acknowledge her idiotic comment.

            “The irritatingly happy clerk at the desk says there is an all-night food place on Royal Street.”

            “Hmm. I wonder if it is owned by vampires,” she comments.

            “Doubtful. I have their number. Shall I call and order you something?”

            “What do they have?”

            “I have no idea.”

            His answer makes her laugh and throw a pillow at him. He pretends to be offended. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask. I can imagine that they will have something you like. The clerk said they have salads and sandwiches.”

            She throws another pillow at him. “And you said you had no idea what they had. Get me a grilled chicken salad if they have it. If not, they’ll probably have a po’boy. This  ** _is_**  New Orleans, after all.”

            He snickers and calls the number. There is a $20 minimum order for delivery so he orders two sandwiches and the grilled chicken salad she wanted.

            “I should be the one to open the door,” his mate says after he has hung up the phone.

            “Why?”

            “What if the delivery guy’s a vamp? He’ll know you’re one the moment he lays eyes on you,” she replies.

            He frowns. He has a special spray designed to mask his scent. It is similar to the compound the fairy, Niall, uses to suppress his fae smell, and his mate’s cousin, Claudine, gave the bottle to her. She did not ask why Sookie needed it, although he would not be surprised if the angel-in-training already knew. He has no doubt that the young fairy can be trusted because she has saved his mate’s life more than once. The great-grandfather on the other hand… The jury is still out on that one, as they say. The last time they saw Niall was on Christmas and again at their wedding. Claudine delivered the scent-masking spray two weeks later without their request. 

            “I seriously doubt he will be a vamp. Vampires do not deliver pizza and po’boys,” he states with authority.

            She raises an eyebrow. “Really? Is it, like, against the rules or something?” she teases.

            “Page 417 of the Handbook for the Recently Undead,” he deadpans.

            She laughs. “Funny, I’ve never seen that one on any of your bookshelves.”

            “I don’t need one. I wrote it.”

            “Of course you did. And I am sure there’s a whole chapter on human-vampire sexual relations.”

            He gives her a leer and bends down to kiss her. “Two.”

            By the time the fresh-faced young man knocks on their hotel room door thirty minutes later, she is set to rights in a cotton nightgown and her terry robe that fits generously over her “baby bump,” and her wig is back in place – it got knocked off in their enthusiasm. He keeps out of sight and spritzes himself with the spray just in case the deliveryman is a shifter or Were, but he is neither of those things – merely a student at Tulane University or so his mate tells him after the boy is gone.

 _‘Funny how guys usually ogle my boobs, but this one saw my belly and went totally wiggy,’_  she says with some disappointment.

            He places his hands on her waist and pulls her close. “Good.”

             _‘Stupid, possessive vampire,’_  she snorts, rolling her eyes.

             _‘That’s me,’_  he replies, showing some fang.

            His possessiveness is an ongoing issue, but she doesn’t seem to mind as much as she used to since he stopped threatening anyone who looked twice at her. He even tolerates the weretiger working for them at their new club. Prior to the Great Revelation, such a thing would have been unthinkable, but he is a very…  _progressive_  vampire as they say in these politically correct times. He has no real use for such ideals, but they get him what he wants so he plays along. The days of just chopping off the heads of those who stood in his way are long since over, although there are nights when he dearly, dearly misses them. Things were much less complicated in the 1500’s, but change is the only constant in the world, and he has felt it necessary to adapt to the modern times. And he can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy the new perks: the money, the power, the ease with which he moves through the world. The Internet is an amazing thing. He wishes he’d had it centuries ago.

            His mate yawns and rubs her eyes, bringing him back to himself. The contacts are irritating her. He took his out almost as soon as they were safely in the room. His eyes don’t lubricate the way a human’s do, and the lenses are scratchy and dry on his corneas. He will have to get drops at an apothecary before they go on their hunt, otherwise the irritation will distract him.

            “Why don’t you take those contact lenses out and lie down with me for a while after you eat?” he suggests. “We can’t do anything until after sunrise, anyway, and you are tired.”

            She sniffs, blinking slowly, and nods. “I could use a couple of hours’ sleep.”

            He smiles, tasting his victory. “And I still owe you a backrub,” he reminds.

            She smiles back, and he feels her pleasure across their bond. She loves his massages very much.

            He waits while she eats one of the warm sandwiches he ordered and sets aside the others to eat later. Then she brushes her teeth and washes her face, taking off the contacts and the wig, and letting her hair fall free. He quickly draws curtains so no one can see them out of their disguises.

            “I hate wigs,” she complains, scratching her head.

            He sits her down on the edge of the bed and rubs her scalp in small, circular motions, making her close her eyes and moan. He pulls the ties on her cotton shift and pushes it off her shoulders, then he helps her remove the prosthetic and places it next to the bed.

            “Lie down on your stomach,” he tells her, and she obeys, stretching herself out on the mattress with her arms under her chin. She is dressed in nothing but a pair of panties, and he takes them off her, too.

            In their bag is the jar of sandalwood and amber massage lotion the massage therapist on Isle Elena gifted them, and he spreads a liberal amount of it on his hands before bending over her prone body and gliding his palms along her lower spine. He is an excellent masseuse, and he hones in on the problem areas, working the tight muscles with the heels of his hands. She moans beautifully, telling him that she much appreciates his efforts, and soon he has all of her discomfort rubbed out of her, and she is completely relaxed. Unfortunately, she is also completely asleep.

            He sighs, not really disappointed. It is a high compliment to his skill that she’s sleeping, but still, he was getting a little worked up from touching her and seeing all that lovely skin. He gives her round bottom a light caress before tucking her under the covers, then he divests himself of his clothes and snuggles in with her, loving her warmth and scent. She senses his nearness and curls towards him. In moments he feels himself slipping into what his mate calls downtime, and he allows the respite to refresh and renew him. Dawn is a scant two hours away, and he must be in top form before they begin their hunt.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 

            The approach of dawn brings him out of his suspended state like the touch of a cold finger on the back of his neck. He knows this feeling all too well, and shiver of warning runs down his spine, but this time he ignores it. His body is shrieking that he must find shelter because the sun is coming, and final death comes with it, but his mind knows that he is prepared for the sunrise, and that keeps him calm.

            He is almost always calm in the face of danger. He knew panic was a wasted emotion even before he was turned, and it’s even more of one now. Vampires love to use fear as a means of getting their way, and panic is like pure heroin for them. He learned early on not to feed them their fix, and his steady pragmatism has saved his life more than once. It will be especially useful in the nights to come, once this deed is done and they must conceal any whiff of their hand in it. Over the past few months, he has gotten an idea that their prey will not be missed, but his death will need to be avenged all the same. Such is the complex social hierarchy of his kind – killers all, but “civilized” ones.

            Their customs and rituals are the only things that keep them from degenerating into mindless animals who would think nothing of slaughtering hundreds – thousands – in a single night. His mate has never truly been exposed to the power of the bloodlust, and he hopes she never will. He protects her from it as much as he can, but she seems hell-bent on staring the monster directly in the face. He knew that the night she gave him the reconstituted fey Bloodvine and damned the consequences. He both admires and despises that trait in her, but he knows it will eventually get her turned or killed. He dearly hopes it will be the former because he cannot stand the thought of losing her.

            His dark thoughts pull him from the bed. He cannot be beside her, smelling her sweet scent and feeling her warmth, when he is like this. The violence that he keeps tightly controlled is churning like a maelstrom inside him, eager and impatient for The Hunt. He must put distance between them, else he will do the unthinkable and bring her to him as he did with Pam. He swore to himself then that he would never create a child that way again, and he refuses to break his vow. If and when his bonded joins him in vampirism, it will be because she has chosen it, and not because he succumbed to his deepest desires in a moment of weakness.

            It is still dark in the room, but he can see just fine, and he devotes the last half-hour of night to fixing his makeup and retrieving the enchanted mint leaf from its protective case. He will only have three left after today, but he hopes the next time he uses one, it will be for pleasure and not for… business. When his face is in place, and all that is left is for him to put on the hat and contact lenses, he opens the detailed map of New Orleans that they brought with them, and once again looks at the dots they have made to mark the addresses his bonded has managed to purloin from their prey’s mind.

            His talented mate has plucked a total of seven locations right out of Victor Madden’s head over the course of four encounters that he had arranged with the rival vampire. Since the debacle of the announcement of his and Sookie’s bonding, they have seen the Sheriff of Area One three more times, each meeting a carefully orchestrated and planned event – even on their wedding day when he conspired to allow Victor a few minutes with Sookie to “congratulate the bride.”

            His complaint against Madden is still pending, but he has found it necessary to make all the typical motions of submission. It grates on him, and his anger and offense is a simmering rage that he keeps just under the surface, but it will finally find release today. He’s been clever, having his mate periodically call Victor’s main office in New Orleans right at dusk (the arrogant jerk has even taken over Sophie-Annee’s former headquarters) just to time how long it takes the vampire to get to the office. It gives them an idea of how far Victor is traveling.

            Victor rarely takes more than twenty minutes to return Sookie’s call, so that limits the range of locations to within a certain radius. He looks at the map and draws a circle around the headquarters that encompasses the distance he feels is approximately how far away Victor is coming from. Five of the six addresses are within the circle, but that does not guarantee that their prey is at any of the remaining locations. It is likely that there are other nests unknown to them, but regardless they will be within the defined area provided that Victor is not planning to be out of New Orleans tonight. They always run the risk that they might not be able to find his daytime safe haven and may be forced to try again another day. That would not be optimal.

            Dawn is here and he feels the pull of the daytime sleep, but he is ready for it and he slips the mint leaf under his tongue. The taste fills his mouth and sinuses, and in moments all weariness is gone. He cannot say the same thing for his mate, who is still sound asleep amid the blankets and sheets of the bed. She looks so young and innocent when she is sleeping that he almost despises how much he has corrupted her. But then he realizes that if it hadn’t been him who had done the corrupting, it would have been someone else.

            The moment his mate’s estranged cousin had opened her mouth about Sookie’s talent, his lover’s fate had been sealed. Once her gift had been known and confirmed, there was no way out for her so it is best that he is the one to have her. He will protect her and treat her well. There is no telling what another vampire would have done to her, but he knows this – Compton would never have been allowed to keep her.

            The younger vampire might have been deluded into thinking that he would be able to have and keep the prize, but Eric knew better. If Sookie had not separated herself from Compton, it would have been done for her. Bill is too far down in the hierarchy to have merited such consideration. Eventually, the queen would have confiscated her, and Sookie would have had no say in the matter, and her beloved Southern Gentleman would have been staked if he’d tried to refuse.

            So it is ironic that the only reason Compton is still alive is because his headstrong mate gave him the boot. He smiles because he loves irony, and he wonders how his lover will react if he ever tells her that little fact. He knows she still holds her former lover in high regard, but he doubts either of them know how lucky they are that their relationship ended before Sookie met the queen. Vampire politics are vicious and ruthless, and Sophie-Anne would have thought nothing of eliminating Compton permanently if he’d gotten in her way. His own position with the new king is tenuous, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Felipe sends someone against him in order to steal Sookie.

            In that regard, it is a very good thing that his mate’s stubbornness and independence are so well known. Other vampires of his status look at his relationship with his mate and shake their heads. They would never tolerate her famous tirades, and they think him either a saint or an imbecile to put up with them. They have no idea.

            As for himself, he loves her spunk, and her willingness to get in his face even though she knows he can kill her with a single flick of his fingers (not that he ever would, but the danger is very real.) Her feisty attitude and zest for life insure that their relationship is never boring, and boredom is the bane of vampires his age. After ten centuries of living, very little is new or exciting, and Sookie excites him in ways he has not experienced in centuries. She is a rare and precious gift, and he has no intentions of ever letting her go. He’ll slaughter every vampire king and queen in North America if he has to, but he doubts that it will ever come to such drastic measures.

            The other elder vampires might be confused about his blood-bonded, but they know her talents are invaluable, and they do not want to lose her cooperation – she is even stronger and more reliable than the only other known telepath under vampire control: Barry the Bellboy. He is sure there are others, and he knows his mate can pick them out, but she has been wise not to do so.

            Her cousin’s secret son is a prime example. The boy shares her talents, but they are determined to protect him from the dangers his Gifts will cause him. He knows his mate is pragmatic enough to know that cannot last forever, but he will do as much as he can to make sure Hunter is not discovered before he is old enough to understand what is happening to him. He has requested that Sookie purposefully not tell him anything regarding the child, or her very infrequent visits with him, because then he will have no information to give should he be questioned.

            A noise outside their room alerts him, and he peeks out the window to see a human employee tending to the pool. It is a bright, sunny day, and his vampire eyes have a hard time adjusting to the light. He has sunglasses to protect them when they go out, but for now they are in the relative shade of the buildings surrounding the courtyard. He was right in his assessment last night, it is very beautiful.

            He knows right away that he will have to adjust his disguise. This far south, it is much warmer than Shreveport, and his sheepskin coat and gloves will draw attention to them. He is going to have to paint his hands, and that is an inconvenience, but not an intolerable one. He’ll be able to get away with a long-sleeved shirt and his cowboy hat, which pleases him because he loves the hat, and his mate admired it very much on him last night.

            He smiles, imagining some fun role-playing they might engage in later if time permits. No. He will see it done. Far be it from him to waste such a perfect opportunity, but that means they must begin their hunt as soon as possible. He hates to wake his wife up so soon when he knows she is short on sleep, and has not been sleeping well as the day for this trip approached, but there is nothing to be done for it. He leans over her and gives her a kiss on her cheek, brushing her long hair from her face, but she barely twitches.

            A poke to their bond proves that she is very deeply asleep, and he cannot bring himself to disturb her quite yet. Instead, he mixes more paint for his hands, and dresses in his disguise, checking himself carefully in the mirror to make sure he has covered all the bases. It is much easier to get away with mistakes after dark, but any missed spot will glare bright white in the sunlight so he must be sure he has not overlooked anything. When he is relatively certain that he is ready, he puts in the contact lenses, and dons his hat, and steps out into the New Orleans morning.

            What they are doing is extremely risky and dangerous, and it could cost them both of their lives if things go wrong, but the benefits are worth the danger in his mind. They must be free of Victor otherwise they will have to continue constantly looking over their shoulders. This foray into the human world in daylight will test the quality of his disguise. If he can fool the handful of mortals gathered in the main building, he should be able to fool anyone they might meet on the street.

            Their hotel serves breakfast – a simple affair of sugar-laden pastries and coffee – and he enters the dining room with an air of caution. There are few people in the room this early, and the staff is still stocking the breakfast tables, but there is fruit and the powered puffs of fried dough called beignets. The smell alone makes his upper lip curl, but he keeps his fangs from descending as he goes over to peruse the offerings.

            “Well, good morning, Sugar,” a peppy voice speaks behind him, and he must keep himself from whirling on her with his vampire speed. He had heard someone approaching, and that is the only thing that spares the idiotic woman’s life.

            It is Brandy from the check-in desk. She is as perky and smiling as she had been last night, and his dislike for her increases. She is carrying a carafe of hot coffee that she sets down on the serving table with a loud thump.

            “How is Mrs. Rooks?” she asks brightly.

            He frowns and turns his head away. “My wife is… hungry,” he says brusquely.

            So is he, and he envisions taking her, draining her of her last drop of blood, then wiping that insipid smile off of her face, but he holds himself in check. He knows he will not be able to feed in quantity until the deed is done, and he can risk getting a TrueBlood.

            “Well, of  _course_ , she is, Honey. She’s eatin’ for  _two_ ,” Brandy informs him as if a man would not know his own pregnant wife needed extra providing for.

            She does not wait for him to reply – and really what could he say that wouldn’t be a scathing insult? – and begins to load up a paper plate with fruit and pastries. She then pours coffee into a Styrofoam cup.

            “Here ya go, Sugar,” she says, handing him the plate and cup. “If that’s not enough for her, y’all can come back and get another plate.”

            He looks down at the food, thinking that it is more than he has ever seen his mate eat in a single sitting, then nods his head in thanks.

            “Thank you.”

            She smiles at him and he wonders what she would look like in the rigor of death. “Oh, no problem. Y’all have a good day. Don’t let her wear herself by doin’ too much y’hear?”

            He grunts an answer, then strides at what he hopes is a human pace towards the exit. Since no one gives him a second glance, and all he hears is murmurings about who the “hot Indian guy” is, he gathers that his subterfuge is successful. As soon as his mate is ready with her own disguise, they will head out.

            Back in their room, he sets the plate and cup on the bedside table and uses his hand to waft the smell of the coffee towards his mate’s nose. He knows immediately when the aroma reaches her brain because he can feel her rising to consciousness, and he smiles as her nose crinkles and her eyes squint.

            “Mmmmph. Is that coffee?” she mumbles sleepily.

            “Yes, my lover. I have brought you breakfast,” he croons, sitting on the bed.

            Her eyes open and she looks lovingly up at him as she rolls to her back. “Mmmm. Breakfast in bed,” she says, stretching. The movement pushes back the covers to reveal her breasts. He groans.

            “Perhaps once you are finished your meal, I can have breakfast in bed as well?” he suggests hopefully.

            She smirks and teases a nipple just to entice him. “Maybe. It depends on how good the coffee is.”

            “Unfortunately, I am no judge of this drink. I have never had it.”

            She sits up, allowing the covers to fall completely to her waist, and revealing even more of her delectable body. She gives him a wink as she lifts the Styrofoam cup to her lips, and he watches in rapt fascination as she sips the dark liquid.

            “Mmm. Okay, coffee’s good,” she announces.

            He preens, which is hard to do with his hair in tight braids and a cowboy hat on his head, but he manages. It earns him a giggle and a brush to his hand.

            He reaches over and selects a banana from the offerings of fruit, peeling it before presenting it to her. She smirks and teases him some more by wrapping her lips around the soft flesh and taking it far into her mouth. She is able to get most of it in and consumes it in essentially one bite.

            “Hmph, impressive, but I’m bigger,” he comments with a leer.

            She smiles and licks her lips. “I know.”

            He shifts uncomfortably as his body responds to her growing interest. His mind is whirring, trying to rationalize having sex with her before they leave the room. Part of him knows they must begin the hunt, but another part of him desperately wants to sink his cock and his teeth into her luscious, sweet flesh and have her eight ways before he lets her out of the bed. He figures the two sides will reach some sort of compromise since both are equally pragmatic.

            At some point during his internal ruminations, his mate reaches for a pastry and takes a bite of the beignet. The powdered sugar clings to her lips like snowflakes, but he knows better than to try to lick it off. The only non-body fluid item he can consume is water – and it must be pure water at that, else the chemicals and additives in the liquid will make him sick, the same way tainted blood will make him ill. Very few individuals know vampires can drink. Not even his mate knows that secret, yet. He is sure he will tell her if the situation arises.

            He stares hungrily as she licks the sugar from her lips and takes another bite. She is doing it on purpose, eating slowly and with relish because she knows he is watching. He waits until she finishes the pastry and takes another sip of coffee before he pounces on her. She is already wet and ready for him, her nipples hard and erect before he can even get his lips around them, and all he must do to have her is open his jeans and thrust home.

            She gasps and writhes beneath him. His cowboy hat falls to the floor as she grabs his head. He bites down on her breast and feeds from the wounds, feeling smug as he feels her climax around him, and that triggers his own. But he is not done with her. The two sides have decided that two climaxes with the promise of more later is an acceptable compromise, so he continues riding her, waiting out the momentary softening of his member, before it realizes that there is more pleasure to be had and recovers nicely. His mate is equally surprised.

            “Eric…” she whispers, her voice a breathless sigh.

            He growls in answer and thrusts harder, making sure she stays with him – no wandering thoughts of cell phones or spots on the ceiling or whether or not Amelia remembered to put the trash out (that had been a good one!) – until she begins making that little keening noise that she makes right as she is about to come. Gods of the Aesir, he loves that noise. It’s half-sob, half-pant, and all music to his ears.

            She’s getting tighter, getting hotter, her fingers are digging into his shoulders so hard that he can smell his own blood. He’s ready, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Wait for it. Wait for it.

            “Err..eeyahh…” she cries, and it’s his cue. He thrusts hard, strikes her sweet spot and she is coming, her walls clamping down on him as her whole body goes taught and her mouth drops open.

            He snarls and growls, releasing the holds he had been keeping on his need, and lets himself go over the edge with her.

            The aftermath finds him holding her, his hand stroking her hair as he whispers endearments and compliments in her ear. She is trembling, breathing hard, and the scent of her sweat and her sex is a heady perfume in his nose. It takes her quite some time to come down from her high, and he cannot help but be ridiculously pleased with himself.

            “Oh,” she says. “Oh.”

            “My lover? Are you alright?”

            “Oh yeah, sure. I’m fine. I just can’t feel my legs anymore.”

            He laughs and rubs her calves, letting his finger slide behind one to tickle a sensitive spot behind her knee. She snorts and tries to pull her leg away.

            “No fair,” she complains, rolling to her side.

            All’s fair,” he teases, rolling with her, curling around her smaller form.

            She sighs, happy and content, and he can feel the hum of her life thrumming alongside his in the bond. She is thinking that she wants to be like this always, and lamenting the reality that tender, uncomplicated moments like this are rare.

             _‘Yes, but they are all the more precious because they are rare,’_  he soothes.

             _‘I just wish it would all stop sometimes, y’know. I get so tired of playing the game. Like today. If we do find Victor and you… you know. Who’s to say there won’t be another vamp who’s just as bad ready to take his place?’_

             _‘I am well familiar with the vampires in Felipe’s entourage. Once Victor is gone, it is likely that Jonathan will be installed as the Sheriff of Area One. It’s a bit of a promotion for him, and he’s been loyal enough to the king to warrant one.’_

            She shudders. ‘ _I don’t like him.’_

            He nods. He isn’t too fond of the Asian vampire either, but he does consider him a step-up from Madden. Victor covets Sookie. Johnathan is smart enough to know that Lousiana’s human telepath is well and truly spoken for, and he won’t challenge the claim. Victor, much to his own peril, has crossed the line several times. The other vampire is so arrogant that he continues to overstep his bounds with Sookie despite the formal complaint that has been filed against him. Well, that is no matter because the complaint will be “settled out of court” today if all goes well.

             _‘There is nothing to fear. Jonathan is no match for me. Now, come, my lover. We must begin our search. Go on and take a shower, and then I will help you get dressed and put your wig on.’_

            She scowls.  _‘Wig. I hate that wig. You’ve been outside right? Is it sunny?’_

            He smiles in spite of himself.  _‘Oh yes. It’s lovely.’_

            Her frown deepens.  _‘That means it’ll be hot under the wig.’_

             _‘All the more incentive to find Victor quickly.’_

            He pats her on her bottom, urging her to get up. He regrets that his disguise prevents him from joining her in the shower, but he has every intention of making it up to himself later. She makes a little sound of unhappiness, but slides out of bed. He admires her as she walks, naked, to the hotel room’s bathroom, his nostrils flaring as he follows her scent. She reeks of him and sex, and the smell make his fangs run down in pleasure. There are no words to describe what her smelling like that does to him.

            After a moment, he gets up himself and rearranges his clothes, picking up his hat and putting it back on his head, then he checks himself in the mirror and touches up a couple of spots where Sookie’s fingers have smeared the paint. He is back to rights by the time his mate exits the shower all clean and smelling like her floral shampoo.

            She is subdued as she gets dressed, slipping on a pair of plain white panties and her bra. He helps her with the prosthetic, arranging it into the proper position, then holds up another floral maternity dress for her to put over her head. When her clothes are on, he takes the brush and begins smoothing out her still damp hair. She tries to drink from her coffee cup, but she makes a face when she tastes it.

            “What is wrong?” he asks, pulling her hair back into a ponytail at the base of her neck.

            “Coffee’s cold,” she complains.

            “Hm. Then we shall have to get you a fresh cup before we go out into the city.”

            “Okay, that’d be good.”

            “Of course, my lover. Anything for you.”

            He puts on the wig cap, tucking all of her hair into it, and fits the wig in place, taking a moment to brush it out and make it look natural, then he quick does her makeup and holds out the contact lens case for her to put in the colored lenses.

            “I’ve drawn a circle around the area I think we need to search. There’s a lot of ground to cover, but I think if I can just catch Victor’s scent, I’ll be able to track him to wherever he is nesting,” he tells her.

            “So you’ll be sniffing hard.”

            He nods. “Yes.”

            “Okay.”

            When they are ready, he sprays them both down with the special scent dampening spray, and puts two small battery powered electromagnets into his pants pockets. They will remain off until he needs them, but once they locate their prey, he will activate them and scramble their ectoplasmic signatures, ensuring that no reconstruction spell will be able to recreate what comes after.

            “Let’s go get you your coffee, lover,” he says, ushering her towards the door. He grabs a small knapsack with some supplies, and slings it over his shoulder as they exit their room.

            He pauses in the doorway, checking to make sure Elena’s ring is still working. Earlier it was easy to stay out of the direct sunlight, but now he needs to know if the ring will still protect him. He feels the tingle of the magic when he puts his hand into the light, but that is all he feels so he is reassured that he will be safe from the daylight’s deadly rays.

             _‘Elena, Goddess of Healing and Compassion, I thank you for your gift. Eros, God of Lust and Love, I thank you for your gift. Hlin, Goddess of Consolation, I thank you for your gift,’_  he prays, letting his thanks come from the deepest part of his soul. He can almost imagine them smiling down upon him.

            His mate pauses and looks at him, and he gives her a reassuring smile as he reaches for her hand. She slips her palm into his, and together they cross the courtyard to the breakfast room.

            “Well, hello, Honey. How are you feeling this morning?” Brandy asks as she sees them come in.

            His mate smiles and ducks her head. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking. I’m surprised to see you. I would have thought your shift would be over by now.”

            “I get off at 8:30,” the woman answers. “Did ya sleep well? Kid not kickin’ ya in the kidneys all night long?”

            Sookie laughs nervously and shakes her head. “Ah, no. Junior was pretty quiet.”

            “Just you wait. In another four weeks, it’ll feel like you’ve got a little NFL kicker in there practicing for field goals.”

            Brandy comes closer and it looks almost like she intends to touch his mate’s swollen belly. He hears his wife gasp softly, and feels her alarm, so he looms at her shoulder, glaring, warning and the woman backs away. His mate plays shy, looks apologetic and covers her womb with her hands.

            Too close. One touch and it will be all over. They will know her swollen belly is nothing more than stuffing and dreams. Brandy tries not to look disappointed.

            “So, did ya’ll want more food? Was the plate I made up for you not enough?” the woman asks.

            His wife snickers. “Oh no. That was more than enough for me, my husband and half the football team at our local high school,” she answers. “I just came in for another cup of coffee.”

            Brandy frowns. “Y’know too much caffeine is no good for the baby.”

            He feels his mate’s urge to roll her eyes, but she manages to keep control over herself. He is in awe of her tolerance. Had it been as little as ten years ago, the woman would already have been a rotting corpse in the dumpster.

            “I only have one cup in the morning. The one my husband brought me went cold before I could drink it.”

            “Oh, well, that’s no good now is it. Nothing worse than cold coffee,” the oblivious ditz blathers.

             _‘Hmmm, I can think of a number of things that are worse than cold coffee,’_  he comments drolly.

             _‘Yourself being one of them.’_

_‘Of course. Can I kill her?’_

_‘No. She’s human.’_

_‘But she’s such an irritating human…’_  he pleads.

             _‘No.’_

_‘Just one little bite?’_

_‘No, but you can glamour her if you want.’_

_‘And do what to her? Make her think she’s a chicken?’_

            “Here ya go, honey,” Brandy says, handing a cup of coffee to his mate.

            “Thank you,” Sookie whispers, accepting the cup.

            “Oh it’s no trouble, Honey. I’m happy to do it.”

             _‘A chicken, huh?’_

 _‘She’ll cluck like a laying hen,’_  he assures her.

_‘I thought only hypnotists did that.’_

_‘Who do you think started that field?’_

            She gives him a surprised look.  _‘Vamps?’_

_He shrugs. “It was one way we could conceal our gifts.’_

_‘Wow.’_

_‘Some of the world’s most famous hypnotists were vampires, including Franz Mesmer.’_

_‘Mesmer… as in mesmerize?’_

            He smile. Sometimes she does surprise him with how much she actually knows.  _‘Got it in one.’_

_‘He was a vamp?’_

_‘Oh yes.’_

_‘What about Freud?’_

_‘Oh no. He was human. He just specialized in diseases of the rich.’_

_‘Ah,’_  she answers, taking a sip from her coffee. “Mm. This is very good. Thank you, Brandy.”

            Brandy smiles from ear to ear. “You’re welcome, honey. Y’all have a good day here, and don’t do too much. If you get tired, just come back and take a nap and try again after you’ve rested up a bit.”

            “I will. I promise,” his wife agrees if only to placate the woman before he loses his temper and does something drastic. “Thank you for the coffee.”

            “Anytime. See y’all later.”

            Now he is all the more eager to kill something so he slides one arm around her shoulders and guides her towards the exit.

             _‘Are you ready for this?’_  he asks.

            She sighs.  _‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’_

_‘Let us go then.’_

_‘Yeah, let’s get this over with,’_  she agrees with some resignation.

            He tries to hold in his growing glee, but he cannot. They are going hunting and someone most likely will die by his hand. The prospect is heady and exciting, and he rumbles low in his chest. His hand on his mate’s shoulder tightens as he urges her out the door, and he fingers the strap of the knapsack slung over his shoulder – it contains all of the weapons he will need: stakes, silver chains, and even a set of silver handcuffs so he is well prepared for whatever creative mood strikes him once he finds his prey.

            He takes a deep breath as he and Sookie pass under the brick archway that leads out onto St. Anne Street, and lets the feral tracker in his blood begin to take control. He turns his head, scenting the air and concentrating on sniffing out the faintest trace of their prey’s trail. Beside him, his wife pulls out the marked map, looking like a tourist come to explore the Crescent City.

            “Let’s try 2614 Royal Street first,” she suggests.

            He grunts and takes her arm, turning her to the east as they walk out into the Vieux Carre.

            The hunt is on.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 

            Their first address is only a couple of blocks away from their hotel in the French Quarter; convenient, but the location makes him nervous. There are businesses here and tourists milling about, so it will not be easy to breach the building undetected. They pause outside the grey façade, pretending to peer up at the Creole townhouse with interest when they are actually probing the structure with their senses. He breathes deep while his mate stands beside him and piggybacks on their bond. Without him, she cannot sense vampire minds in the daytime, but when she is joined with him she can pick them out if she is in close enough range. It is one of her talents that they do not advertise or use when others are present.

            He can already tell that Victor is not there, and that is some relief even if it means they must move on to the next target. There is no whiff of any vampire activity on the property, and he doubts that his rival possesses a scent-dampening compound like the one he and his mate have.

             _‘He’s not there,’_  she tells him.

            He nods.  _‘I know.’_

            She looks around, searching the street with a little frown on her face, and he places a supportive hand on her lower back. Passersby give them soft smiles, and he inclines his head towards them.

             _‘They think you are a very good husband,’_  his wife informs him teasingly.

            He puffs out his chest a bit and looks down at her fondly, but he doubts she can see much of his eyes behind his sunglasses.

_‘I do try.’_

            She smirks.  _‘You succeed. Most of the time.’_

            He answers her with a huff, but then blinks because the contact lenses are drying out already. She senses his discomfort and pulls the little bottle of drops out of her purse. He accepts them gratefully and moistens his eyes with a drop or two to each.

             _‘Thank you,’_  he says, handing the bottle back to her.

            She stows the drops in the deep caverns of her purse.  _‘Anytime.’_

_‘Where to now?’_  he asks as he puts his sunglasses back on.

_‘Let’s try 2620 Royal Street,’_ she offers, looking at the map again.

_‘As you wish.’_

            They turn and head out of the Quarter, and he walks beside her, wishing the urgency of their mission was not dampening the miracle they are witnessing. He is a vampire, and he is awake and moving about in daylight. He’s been out for nearly an hour; Eros’s enchanted mint leaf has adhered itself to the underside of his tongue just like the first one he used, and he feels no adverse effects or any hint that Elena’s ring is about to fail him. He keeps to the shady side of the street when possible, but that does not belittle his wonder and amazement. He wishes he could rip off his mate’s wig and see her golden hair in the sunlight again, see the warmth of the day kiss her skin, and he deeply resents the reality that there is no time to do any of the things he wants to do with her during their precious stolen moments.

            It is only the excitement of the hunt, and the seriousness of their task, that keeps him on point, else he would lose himself in the play of light on the buildings, and the scent of the daytime air. It is warm, and the sun heats his skin and clothes up to a temperature that almost rivals body heat, and he delights in touching his mate with his warm hands, just to see her eyes widen and her breath catch. She is as deeply affected and regretful as he, and he gives her a light kiss on her cheek – it is both an apology and a promise.

            The French Quarter itself was a subdued affair, but at least it showed signs of life. Once out of the tourist areas, however, New Orleans resembles more of a ghost town – empty and silent as a tomb. Well, at least a tomb that isn’t occupied by vampires. He remembers quite a few tombs that served as gateways to underground vampire nests, some of which were quite extensive. There was one under the Vysehrad Slavin Cemetery in Prague that stretched for miles, connecting to the city’s sewers and subway system.

            Still reeling from the double hits of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, and crushed under the ineptitude of the human government agencies, New Orleans is a pale shadow of her former glory, a tattered Cinderella waiting for her Fairy Godmother to arrive. Most of the evacuated residents have yet to return, and many of them have no home to return to. The New Orleans mayor had all but begged Sophie-Anne to come back to the city, in hopes that her presence would revive the tourist trade, but when the vast majority of service personnel are disenfranchised and dislocated, it is difficult to serve tables and clean hotel rooms.

            Just beyond the boundary of the glitz and false facades meant to fool tourists into believing the city is okay, the vast swaths of destruction still lay fallow in the cold light. Blue tarps still color the cityscape, and the stench of rotting garbage and black mold permeates everything. It is almost nauseating to him, and he is glad that his mate does not have his nose. His is a particularly sensitive sense of smell, even for a vampire, and he wonders if Victor will have chosen an area deep within the flood zone in order to mask his scent. It would be a clever ploy, and one that bears merit. If they cannot find him in any of his known nests, he will leave his mate in the relative safety of the Quarter and go hunting in the 9th Ward on his own.

            2620 Royal Street is not in the French Quarter, but it is in the Sliver by The River, as the locals call it – the thin ribbon of land along the banks of the Mississippi that was spared the flooding when the levees broke. This “sliver” included the French Quarter and much of the famous Garden District. Everything north of it was under varying depths of water for days – even weeks – before the flood subsided.

            The address is a simple single-story home with clapboard siding and white trim. Unfortunately, there is no sign of Victor here either. His mate scratches an itchy spot under the wig and checks the map. He peers over her shoulder, crossing off two of the dots in his mind and calculating the distances between the others. One of the remaining three addresses is to the north, close to the racetrack and St. Louis #1 Cemetery, while the other two are West of the Quarter.

             _‘We can go up Esplanade, and check this address next,’_  he says, pointing to a small side street just two blocks away from the famous City of the Dead.

             _‘That’s quite a trek. Can we take a bus?’_  she asks, rubbing her back. They have already walked over a mile and the prosthetic is growing uncomfortable. His mate is in excellent shape, but she is not used to carrying so much extra weight.

_‘I do not ride on public transport, but I will be happy to carry you.’_

_‘Won’t that look funny?’_

            He gives her a wry smile _. ‘No one will see us.’_

_‘You gonna fly with me?’_  she questions, a sparkle in her eyes.

_‘Part of the way at least.’_

            He turns around and offers her his back. She is so used to riding him this way that she thinks nothing of climbing onto him and wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. This is his preferred way of carrying her, and he has borne her this way for miles and miles on many nighttime treks. She loves to fly with him (as long as he does not go too high) and he delights in the feel of her thighs gripping his hips. Right now the prosthetic she is wearing feels odd, and he must compensate for the extra weight and the change in his mate’s body shape, but he adjusts himself and curls his hands under her legs to support her.

             _‘Hold onto my hat,_ ’ he instructs and waits for her to take the cowboy hat into her hands so they don’t lose it.

             _‘Okay,’_  she says, and they are off.

            He keeps to the side roads and alleys where there is less of a chance of their being seen. Where the vegetation and buildings are dense enough, he risks flying. The trip is close to three miles, but that is nothing to a vampire, least of all one as old as he, and soon they are approaching the racetrack and fairgrounds. This area in particular is part of the Esplanade Ridge, a thin strip of higher ground that was spared the worst of the flooding when areas not three blocks away were under six feet of water.

            The house they are looking for is on Verna Court, and it turns out to be a well-kept white stucco home with palm trees on the front lawn framing the porch. It is a two-story structure with the long stuttered windows so famous in the region and a black wrought-iron fence bordering the property. The narrow street ends with a chain link fence that marks the beginning of the fairgrounds, but the racetrack had its roof ripped off during the hurricanes, and it is still closed for repairs.

            He sets Sookie down in the shade alongside the house, out of public view and somewhat hidden. He immediately smells Victor’s scent and his fangs run down in excitement. This could be it.

             _‘I smell him,’_  he says.

            She takes his hand and melds with him to check the house herself, and he is disappointed when she shakes her head.

_‘Unless he can shield his mind from me, he isn’t there.’_

            He frowns, getting frustrated. The scent is strong. If Victor is not here now, he was here within the last twenty-four hours at the very least.

             _‘Let’s go in anyway, lover, just to be sure,’_  he replies.

_‘Okay, but he’s not there.’_

            He nods, gritting his teeth. She’s getting testy, too. He looks at his watch. It’s only ten o’clock, but she didn’t get much sleep and she had a poor breakfast. He wouldn’t blame her for being tired and hungry. And her back hurts too.

            He takes her arm and urges her towards the back door.  _‘It will get us out of the sun.’_

            She gives him a worried look.  _‘Is Elena’s ring wearing off?’_

            He shakes his head, hurrying to reassure her.  _‘No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just that we are both hot and tired, and the sunlight does hurt my eyes.’_

_‘Okay then, I’ll keep a look-out.’_

            Breaking and entering comes almost natural for him, and he easily gains them access to the house. Once inside, they relax a little bit, and he takes a moment to plug the batteries into the electromagnets.

            “I already told you, he’s not here,” Sookie repeats.

            “Can’t be too cautious,” he replies. “Victor’s scent here is strong. This is one of his primary nests.”

            The lack of dust and selection of comfortable furniture gives evidence to that, and the scent of vampire and blood hangs heavily in the still air. He sniffs deeply and concentrates, picking the thread of scent from the air and following it to a closet at the back of the kitchen pantry. His sharp eyes detect a thin crack in the floorboards, and he clenches his jaw as he rips away the trap door with a sharp yank.

            The crawlspace underneath is lined with pillows and a blanket, but is otherwise empty.

            “Told you so,” his mate says, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She’s wearing his hat, and it’s too big for her.

            “Hmph,” he huffs, resecures the hatch, and snatches the hat back. “Well, he was here within the last twenty-four hours. Of that I’m sure.”

            “That doesn’t help us any,” she complains.

            He stamps down his irritation and regroups. It does not matter that three of the five addresses they wish to check have not yielded their prey. It is still early, and this result is not unexpected. Victor is cunning and crafty, and he knew finding the other vampire was not going to be easy. Beside him, Sookie pulls out the map.

            “Where to now? Over to Perdido?” she asks.

            He shakes his head, pacing a bit, thinking. “Not yet. St. Louis #1 Cemetery is only two blocks from here. I want to detour and sniff around there for a bit.”

            “You think he’s gone to ground? He doesn’t seem like the type to sleep in the dirt,” she comments.

            “Any of us will sleep in the dirt if we feel it’s the safest place to be. For all our care and secrecy, Victor may have been tipped off.”

            She bites her lip and he smiles inwardly.

            “How? We were so careful.”

            He shakes his head. “I have no idea. You can stay here if you like. It’s safe as long as it’s daytime.”

“No, I’d rather stay with you.”

            His undead heart thrills when he hears her say that, and she gives him a tender smile.

            “Yeah, I love you too,” she says sweetly. “I must because I’m wearing a wig for you.”

            “I don’t know which one of us is looking forward to burning it more. Come, lover. Let’s go see who we can dig up in the graveyard.”

            She gives him a sour face, but takes his offered hand. “Eww.”

            They leave through the door they came in, and he makes sure that he leaves no evidence of their trespass. Once they are clear of the property, he removes the batteries from the electromagnets to save the charge. There is no need to carry his mate the short distance to the cemetery so he walks beside her again. He finds it oddly satisfying to have her next to him, to feel her body heat and hear her breathing. Her presence is a comforting hum crooning across their bond like a long distant and almost forgotten lullaby. He reaches out, and he does not have to look or wait long before her fingers slide into his.

            Like so many cities with high water tables, the settlers found it necessary to bury their dead above ground lest the coffins unbury themselves. This gave rise to New Orleans’ famous Cities of the Dead, with their rows upon rows of marble crypts. St. Louis #1, #2 and #3 are some of the most memorable of them, with #1 being the oldest. The supposed tomb of the famous voodoo Queen Maria Leavaux is located here, although he doubts if the woman is actually buried there. It is enough that people believe she is there, and the grave is constantly barraged with pilgrims seeking favors from the Great Beyond.

            Entering from the south side, they move among the tombs in relative silence. It is mid-morning on a weekday, so there are few visitors to the cemetery. He keeps a hold of his mate as they navigate the narrow spaces between the crypts. He’s caught a whiff of Victor’s scent, and he is tracking it across the graveyard, but it is mingled with the scent of other vampires, strangers to him, and he is beginning to suspect that Victor had been visiting a nest of his minions.

            The trail ends at an old family crypt in a far corner of the cemetery, and he can already smell at least three vampires sheltering within the marble structure. None of them are Victor. He growls in frustration, angry at having missed his prey again.

            “There’s a whole bunch of them in there,” Sookie whispers.

            He nods. “It’s a nest, but Victor isn’t among them.”

            “No,” she concurs. “Damn, what a wasted trip.”

            “Let me scout around a bit more. He could still be here, just not in this crypt. His scent is all around here. Let me see if it leads us to another mausoleum.”

            “Okay.”

            They spend the next forty minutes hunting the graves, him with his nose nearly to the ground, while his mate probes with her mind. Her skills have considerably improved over the last four months with practice and steady infusions of his blood. When her teacher sees her next month, he thinks Izzy will be very pleased.

            It is hot, tiring work. There is almost no shade because the hurricanes knocked down much of the vegetation, and he is growing more and more uncomfortable in the sunlight. His eyes hurt, and he thinks he might be developing a headache, but that pain might be coming from his mate because she is beginning to tire and the wig is causing her a good deal of discomfort.

             _‘I’m sorry,’_  he apologizes, even as he sniffs around yet another marble tomb.

_‘No, it’s okay. I know this is no picnic for you either.’_

_‘What an… interesting choice of words, my lover. May I raid your basket later?’_

            She snorts and rolls her eyes, but at least he got a little smile out of her.

            He wasn’t really expecting the attack, so when it comes he is momentarily surprised. Of course he knew there were other humans in the cemetery, he just didn’t factor in that anyone would be dumb enough to mug a man of his size. He has forgotten how stupid poor, young human men can be.

            “Give us your money,” one of the three thugs demands, brandishing a knife.

_‘Oh, you have **got**  to be kidding me,’_ Sookie complains.

            She’s hot, tired, hungry and carrying around a fake womb. He thinks he might let  ** _her_**  beat the crap put of these idiots just to get her to work off some steam.

            “Heh, look Billy. Missus has a bun in the oven,” another taunts.

            “Oh good, I like ‘em experienced,” “Billy” sniggers with a leer.

            Okay, maybe he won’t let her have them. That look alone has just sealed the asshole’s fate. He growls a warning even has his wife takes his hand.

            “Ooooh, the big Indian doesn’t look afraid of us,” the third laughs. “What are you gonna do, Tommy Cherokee? Scalp us?”

            At the very least, but only when they are begging him to kill them. He lifts his lip, his fangs about to come down, and the idea of killing and battle is turning him on.

             _‘Eric…’_  Sookie warns.  _‘ **Eric!** ’_

_‘What?!’_

_‘They’re human. You can’t kill them!’_

_‘Why not? They are low-life scum who would think nothing of killing **us**.’_

_‘They’re still just stupid boys!’_

_‘Stupid boys who will become stupid men if I don’t teach them a lesson now.’_

_‘You can’t kill them!’_  she insists, and he starts to rage, the bloodlust howling in his ears.

            In the end, there is nothing she can do to stop him because the one rushes forward and stabs him in the side. He snarls in pain, and the holds he has on his temper snap like dried twigs when the second goes for his wife. Without conscious thought, he slams the first boy with his forearm, sending the kid flying into a nearby crypt, then he goes for the second boy, the one threatening his mate, and crushes the bastard’s hand. The boy starts to scream, but he grabs the kid’s throat and cuts off his wind. The boy is gagging and kicking as he lifts the idiot up by his neck and throws him to join his unconscious buddy.

            The third is trying to run away, and he feels a rush of feral glee as he gives chase, cutting the attacker off with a single leap. He lands in front of the kid, his fangs bared and his hands fisted into claws.

            “What the hell are you, man?” his prey shrieks in terror.

            The scent of fear is intoxicating. He rushes forward, his eyes focused on the hammering pulse in the kid’s neck, and he sinks his teeth into the hot fount. The boy cries out and fights, but he is no match for a thousand year-old vampire. It’s good. It’s so good. Hot and fresh, and laced with adrenaline. He can’t get enough. He might just drain this one dry.

            Two small hands pummel his back. His mate screams in his ear and across the bond.

            “Eric! Eric! Stop! You’re killing him!”  ** _‘ERIC!’_**

**_‘LET ME FEED, WOMAN!’_ **

**_“NO! NO! NO!”_ **

            She slams him where he was stabbed, and he roars with pain, momentarily releasing his victim. She takes the brief pause to insert herself between him and his meal. He hisses at her, his mouth dripping blood, but she knows what to do when he is like this. There is only one thing that will draw him from the urge to feed, and that is the Siren Song of his bonded’s blood. She grabs his ears and yanks his head down, smashing her lips over his and piercing her tongue on his fangs. He seizes the organ in his mouth and sucks on the self-inflicted wounds, letting the euphoric taste of his mate fill his senses.

            In seconds he has her pinned against the closest tomb, his hands under her dress, his hips pressed between her legs. She is moaning, gripping him tightly. His whole body is aflame with want and need and lust.

            A tendril of caution taps him in the bond. His mate is uncomfortable having sex in the open view of the public.

             _‘I will take us back to Victor’s house on Verna Court,’_ he tells her, his hands getting busy, tugging at her panties. He mustn’t rip them… Why must she torment him so?

             _‘Eric… Eric, if we do that, and we don’t find Victor, he’ll know we were there. No scent spray is gonna dampen **that**  smell.’_

            He hates it when she can keep her head when his is so far into his dick he can only see out of one eye, but before he can lobby a protest and counterargument, she is already on her knees, her fingers at the fly of his jeans.

            Her mouth on his hardness is a warm, wet cocoon of ecstasy, and he groans aloud, threading his fingers into the wig. It comes free in his hands, but he doesn’t care. His wife might not fuck him in public, but she’ll suck him off. There’s no logic in that, but he isn’t complaining because he taught her everything she knows about how to give incredible head, and right now she’s using every technique in the book to make sure his brains shoot out his dick when he comes.

            It is over in mere moments, and it is as satisfying as anything under the circumstances, which means not at all really, but at least he can focus again. The howling of the beast within him settles down as his vision clears, and he is able to assess the carnage around him. All three of their would-be muggers are unconscious. The one he bit has a gaping, ragged hole in his neck, but he’ll live. The other two will be fine, although both have multiple broken bones. He thinks there is enough to work with to make the charge of a fistfight gone wrong work for the police, and he sets about covering his tracks by healing the wounds on the kids neck, but opening a smaller one with the discarded knife that started this whole thing.

            The kid wakes up long enough to be glamoured into thinking his own very best buddies were the ones who stabbed him, then he slaps the other two awake to do the same to them. None of the misguided idiots will remember what really happened, which is almost a pity, but it can’t be helped. Maybe they will think twice about mugging unsuspecting visitors trying to pay their respects to the departed.

            He’s calm and rational, and working on damage control. His shirt is bloody where he was stabbed, but the wound is completely closed and it doesn’t hurt anymore. He strips it off and grabs the long-sleeved sweatshirt off of one of their attackers who is about the right size. He hands the bloody shirt to his mate, and she stows it in her large purse. She also digs out the dampening spray and spritzes the immediate area to cover their scents, while he plugs in the electromagnets and walks around the scene to scramble any residual impressions left behind.

             _‘Have we covered all the bases?’_  she asks him.

_‘I think so.’_

            Her wig is lopsided and bits of her blond hair are sticking out from under the wig cap. He takes a minute to set it to rights despite her sour look.

             _‘Let’s go, my lover,’_  he says, reaching for her arm.

            She resists and looks at the three crumpled boys.  _‘Are we just gonna leave them there?’_

            He sighs and rolls his eyes, pulling out one of the disposable phones he purchased for the trip. He dials 911.

            “911, state the nature of your emergency,” the operator tells him.

            “There are three unconscious young men in St. Louis #1 Cemetery near the Reggio crypt in Alley No. 3,” he states firmly.

            “Police and Emergency services are on their way. Can you give me a description of the young men’s conditions?”

            He scowls at the phone, figures he’s done enough by calling, and hangs up, tossing the phone onto the muggers. His mate gives him an exasperated look, but she knows he’s bent as far as he’s going to. She kept him from killing them, and he’s called for assistance, that is going to have to be good enough for her.

            His hat came off when he leaped to grab the third attacker, so he reaches for it and puts it back on his head with an irritated sigh. They’ve wasted over an hour here, and now it is nearly noon. The only bright spot in all of it is that there is a cloud cover rolling in and blocking the worst of the sunlight. He doubts it will rain, but at least he won’t feel as if someone is stabbing him in the eyes with a hot poker – he’s had that done to him once before and it was a wholly unpleasant experience.

            He can hear police sirens in the distance and knows that they must make their exit immediately.

_‘Come, lover, I can hear the sirens.’_

            He turns his back and she gets on him without a word. She’s a little put out, but that can’t be helped. He is what he is, and while he might have softened somewhat since his bonding, he is anything but soft. He whisks them out of the cemetery as the first police car is arriving on the scene. No one sees them as they slip out the west gate.

            He carries her three blocks before he feels they’ve gone far enough, and then he sets her down. She’s huffy and pissy, probably because getting him off made her want to get off too, and she’s frustrated. Add to that the fact that she is still hot, tired, hungry, and mad at him, and she’s worse than her worst PMS day. He tries to calm her through the bond, but she gives him a mental slap for his efforts.

             _‘Don’t,’_  she snaps peevishly.

            He closes his eyes and counts to ten. She’s hot. She’s tired. She’s hungry. She’s horny. She’s upset that he’s a cold-hearted vampire who doesn’t give a shit if those boys die.

             _‘Stupid insensitive vampire,’_  she scolds.

            He counts to ten again.

            “Where to, my lover?” he asks sweetly, just showing a hint of his fangs.

            She gets the message and backs down.

            “I’m hot, tired and hungry. This wig itches and this thing on my stomach is hurting my back,” she whines.

            Whining does not become her, and she does not do it often. He knows that it is a sign of the stress she is under if she is slipping back to her immature, young woman days. She will require patience from him until she can get herself back under control.

            “Perhaps a rest is in order, then. We’re in Mid-City, and we must head south down towards the river. There are many places to eat along the way,” he offers in his best “I am being reasonable” voice.

            She calms a little, and he can hear her realize that she is being bitchy. He refrains from commenting and keeps his thoughts to himself. This tactic has saved his balls more than once. While she makes up her mind, he takes the batteries out of the electromagnets again.

            “Okay. We can head down Canal Street and find some place along the way.”

            He frowns. “That is a very far distance to walk, and, as you have said, you are tired, hot and hungry.”

            She pulls out the map and looks at the remaining dots. “How about you carry me until we get close to Rampart Street? There should be plenty of places to eat in that area.”

            He nods. “As you wish,” he agrees and offers his back again.

             _‘I’m sorry I’m being a bitch,’_ she apologizes, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a peck on the cheek.

             _‘I forgive you,’_  he replies with amusement, taking off with her down a deserted side street.

             _‘Hmph, **you**  forgive  **me** , huh? How about a thank you for the bit in the cemetery?’_

_‘Oh, of course. Always, my lover. And I intend to show you my gratitude very much later today,’_  he purrs, pulling her further onto him and arching his spine so he can grind her sensitive places against the muscles of his lower back. He is rewarded by her delighted shiver and a little moan.

            He sets her down on her feet a block above Rampart and two blocks away from Canal. It is not that far to walk, and he keeps a hand on his mate’s lower back to offer her support. He kneads her lumbar spine a little to loosen up the tense muscles there. She sighs.

             _‘Thanks.’_

_‘Anything for you, my lover.’_

            They turn onto Canal just above Rampart and head down at a leisurely pace. It is full bore lunch rush in the city, so there are numerous people all scurrying to get food before they have to return to their boring, pointless jobs. Sometimes he pities them.

            Sookie hates crowds because all the minds bombard her shields, so he pours his strength into her to bolster them and give her some mental peace. He knows how much she appreciates it. Having been bonded to her for four months now, and slowly but steadily developing the ability to piggyback on her gift, he is learning firsthand how frustrating it is to be privy to the unwelcome thoughts of others. It’s a good thing that he has always been mentally strong as well as physically strong, otherwise the voices might have become… distracting.

            His mate spies a coffee and sandwich shop not far from where they are, and they slip inside the crowded dining room. In here the Southern predilection for manners is very evident as at least three people offer his wife a seat while they wait for a table to become available. She thanks them politely and sits down on a bench by the door. He stands next to her, on guard and watchful like a good husband and expectant father.

            He is certain they are seated more quickly because of his wife’s “condition.” He sits across the table from her not bothering to look at the menu until a perky waitress comes to take their order. He picks the first thing that catches his eye and orders a croissant with butter, a cup of coffee, and water.

            “You sure that’s all you want, sugar?” the waitress asks, looking him up and down. He is breaking manners by not taking off his hat, but no one asks him if he cares about etiquette. Maybe they know what he’d say to that.

            “I am sure.”

            She shrugs and turns to his wife. “And for you, hon?”

            “I’ll have the crab cake sandwich and a glass of sweet tea, thanks.”

            “Sure thing, hon. I’ll bring your drinks right out,” the waitress says, taking their menus from them and hurrying off.

             _‘What are we going to do if we don’t find Victor?’_  his mate questions, her thoughts laced with worry.

             _‘It is too soon to worry about such things. We have not exhausted all of our options yet,’_  he replies.

             _‘I know. I’m just getting antsy.’_

_‘Patience, my lover. Sometimes the Hunt requires persistence and cunning. We have both in spades. I’m not worried at all. We will find him. If not today, then the next time we plan this type of trip.’_

            Their server brought their drinks and then whisked off again. He smiles as he sees his mate eyeing his coffee hungrily, and he pushes the mug her way.

_‘I got it for you, Dear One.’_

            She accepts the mug with a grateful smile.  _‘Thanks. I love my coffee.’_

_‘I know. And I promise not to be jealous of that stoneware cup right now.’_

_‘Why would you be jealous of a coffee mug?’_

_‘Because your lips are on it.’_

            She snorts and rolls her eyes.  _‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Quit trying to distract me from my worrying.’_

_‘Was it working?’_

_‘A little.’_

            He grins and reaches across the table for a handful of swizzle sticks from a container. He places four in his mouth and proceeds to tie each one of them into a knot with his tongue.

             _‘Impressive, but is there a point to it?’_  she asks drolly.

_‘Of course. It allows you to see how flexible and talented I am with my tongue.’_

            She groans and hides her face, shaking her head, and the waitress returns with their food. He sits back and watches Sookie eat, pushing his croissant towards her as he picks his teeth with a wooden toothpick.

             _‘Playing with danger?’_  she teases.

            He snorts.  _‘The day someone tries to stake me with a toothpick is the day I give them my sword so they can cut my head off with it.’_

            She snickers.  _‘Hey, it only takes one poke.’_

            He looks over his sunglasses at her, an amused look on his face.  _‘I’ll poke **you** , but I won’t just do it once.’_

            She chokes on a sip of her tea, and he gives her a sexy smile as he puts the toothpick into the 5th pocket of his jeans. His mate finishes up her meal, and they prepare to leave. It is not a very long respite, but Sookie is happy, well fed, and the caffeine has perked her up some. His watch reads 1:34 pm on the digital readout. They still have five hours before sunset. There is still plenty of time.

            He settles the bill as they leave the small establishment, and they are back on the Hunt after an hour-long break. The next address turns out to be a condo in a high rise, and he leaves Sookie briefly to fly up to the roof and gain access to the building without having to go past the security station in the lobby. Once inside, he scouts around, but he doubts that Victor is here, and he can find no trace of him. He wastes no time in returning to his mate to give her the bad news.

             _‘Damn. Well… only one address left,’_ she says, perusing their map.

            He looks at the last dot on the map. The remaining address is right on the western edge of the Garden District some two miles away. He’ll have to carry her again, but that is no hardship. They walk a couple of blocks to get away from the busier streets, then she climbs onto him, and he takes them west into the Garden District.

            3307 Prytania Street is a beautiful double-gallery antebellum mansion on a corner lot. It appears to have escaped the hurricanes with minimal damage, or at least there is no sign of recent renovation. The surrounding vegetation took an obvious hit from the winds, but otherwise the home looks to be in excellent condition. He sets his mate down on the opposite side of the street in front of the grand house, and she stares at it, wide-eyed.

            “Wow.”

            He shrugs. “I’ve owned nicer. I owned an entire mediaeval castle in France once.”

            “Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

            They stand across the street and look at the house for several moments. He can hear his mate’s heart pounding and sense her excitement, and it feeds his own. This could very well be it.

            “Once more unto the brink, lover? Shall we?” he asks, offering her his hand.

            She takes a deep breath and nods, slipping her palm into his and setting her jaw. Together they cross the street and approach the house. His senses go on full alert as he catches Victor’s very fresh scent. He is here. He  ** _must_**  be here.

            They circle around to the side, being extra cautious, but if he had a heartbeat it would be racing. He slips the batteries into the electromagnets. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he wants to be sure he’s not forgetting anything. He moves to jimmy the back door when Sookie grabs his wrist.

_‘Eric…’_

            He looks at her, his eyes eager and feral.

_‘I think he’s here.’_

            He grins, his fangs running out.  _‘Excellent. They’re always in the last place you look. Hold on, lover. Let me get us inside.’_

            If Victor is as crafty as he thinks he is, there will be some protections on the house. No matter. He can circumvent most of them. He has Sookie hide in the shadows between houses and wait for him while he finds a way in. The security system is a good one, but in the end, he ends up slipping in from an attic window that whatever security company that did the alarm system happened to overlook. Lucky for him. Not so lucky for them or Victor. Or maybe it is just divine providence on his side.

            He easily deactivates the alarm system from inside the house and unlocks the back door so his mate can come hurrying in. She scurries into the kitchen, looking behind her nervously.

             _‘Did you hear anyone coming?’_  he asks.

            She shakes her head.  _‘No, but I’m wound up tighter than a spring.’_

_‘Understandable.’_

_‘I’ve been probing. I think he’s over here,’_  she tells him, leading the way into the main house.

            He follows, letting his own sense of smell guide him in the same direction she is going. There is a white paneled room with a large fireplace. Both the mantle and the chimney are white paneled as well, but he can see the tiny crack in the wood on one side of the hearth. He immediately hones in on it, sniffing and tapping for a hollow spot. It does not take him long to find where the sound of his tap is dull.

             _‘A secret panel,’_  his mate gasps.

             _‘Yes. Now to figure out how it opens.’_

            He digs into his pocket for a Swiss army knife and pulls open the thinnest blade. Then he runs the blade along the crack, probing for the latch. Since most vampires are groggy just before dawn, it’s doubtful that there is any complicated trick to opening the door, and in fact there is not. Once he finds the hidden latch, it is easy for him to find the spot on the panel that releases the lock, and the door slides inward and over, revealing a narrow, open space.

             _‘Stay behind me. Keep close,’_  he instructs as he crawls into the dark opening.

             _‘Wait, I have a flashlight.’_

_‘Don’t need it.’_

_‘But I do!’_  she counters, rummaging in her bag.

            He sighs and waits for her to find her electric torch, then she fists her hand into the back of his stolen sweatshirt and creeps into the passageway with him.

            The tunnel is close and tight, and he can hear Sookie’s heart hammering away almost loud enough to echo in the darkness. They follow the passage several feet until it ends at a small, windowless room. He can see just fine in the blackness, but his mate must swing her lamp around to be able to peer into the space. The thin beam of light falls onto a black lacquered coffin on a dais.

            For a moment, his mate’s heart flutters and she stops breathing, but he does not need her telepathic powers to know that the coffin is occupied. She grips his arm tightly and presses close, and he thinks he might burst with anticipation and excitement.

            They have found Victor.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 

            He is practically vibrating with the desire to inflict pain and terror on his rival, but the practical side of him keeps him from descending upon the coffin and ripping its hapless occupant out to drag him into the daylight. There are things that must happen before he can kill Victor, and besides dragging him into the sunlight would kill him too quickly. He wants to take his time, to savor the moment.

            He quickly prioritizes the things that he needs to do within the next five minutes. Firstly, there is no guarantee that they have not set off some kind of silent alarm, so it is imperative that they get Victor out as soon as possible. He is keeping a sharp ear out for sirens, but so far all is silent.

             _‘I need you to bring me a blanket. We have to take him out of here,’_ he tells his mate, giving her one of the electromagnets so her activities will be scrambled while she is away from him.

 _‘Why? Just stake him and be done with it!’_  she urges.

_‘We cannot kill him here, my lover. There is too great of a risk of leaving any evidence behind.’_

_‘You just want to make him suffer before you kill him,’_ she accuses _._

_‘That too. My need for vengeance will not be satisfied if his death his quick.’_

_‘You vamps and your vengeance. You’re gonna jeopardize everything!’_

_‘I assure you that is not the case. Now please go get me a blanket. Look in the upstairs bedroom closets for one.’_

            She huffs but obeys. In the meantime, he creeps forward and lays a hand on the coffin lid, breathing in the sweet scent of his victory. All the times Victor touched his wife, all of the insults and affronts to his claim on Sookie… those debts will be paid in spades today with blood and agony.

            “You are mine, Madden. All mine,” he hisses as he runs a sensitive finger over the latch on the coffin. It is possible that there is a defense mechanism in place to prevent the casket from being opened from the outside so he moves with caution.

            Sure enough, he hears the turning of a gear as he presses on the release mechanism, and he floats to maneuver his body on top of the coffin, levitating as he lifts the lid, using the top itself as a shield. The moment the latch releases, the coffin jerks as four strategically placed stakes come shooting out of the side panels, each meant to strike an enemy on any side of the casket. Too bad there wasn’t one set to come out of the lid. Three of wooden weapons clatter uselessly to the floor, but he is quick enough to grab one as it shoots out, and he tucks it into the waistband of his jeans for easy access.

            He remains floating as he lifts the lid the rest of the way just in case there is another booby trap waiting. It is killing him to move so slowly and carefully, but he knows Victor is crafty, and that calls for cunning and patience. He hears his wife returning with the blanket and cautions her to remain on the other side of the secret passageway for safety.

_‘Wait for me there, my lover. There has already been one trap, and there may be others. Stay where you are and I will come to you.’_

            He closes eyes and listens, concentrating on hearing more clicks and whirrs that would alert him to another trap as he pulls the lid further up. The creak of metal gives him just enough warning to rip the lid off its hinges and hide under it as more stakes come shooting from the walls. They slap against the solid lid of the coffin, but do him no harm. He has a feeling, however, that the assault is not quite over, and his suspicion is proven right as a silver net is released from somewhere above him.

            His Hammer flares, and he feels its protective energy wrap around him, keeping him safe from the deadly metal as it lands on his improvised shield. He lets the net fall to the floor, and then waits what he feels is a respectable amount of time before he puts the scored and dented coffin lid down and peers into the casket. Victor has been smart and has outfitted his sleeping space with a secondary lid made from what looks like Plexiglas to protect him from his own weapons, and he can clearly see his prey lying in peaceful repose. Victor is wearing a three-piece, black suit, and shows no signs of waking. He grins.

            He has no illusions that there aren’t more traps waiting to be sprung, but he cannot pass up the chance to torture Victor with his own silver net. He grabs the fine mesh and slides it down the passageway, calling to his mate for her to come to collect it.

             _‘What’s this for?’_  she asks.

             _‘A souvenir,’_  he replies and hurries back to his victim, ignoring the mental complaining his mate sends to him.

            He uses his acute senses to sniff and poke all around the edge of the Plexiglas lid, listening and looking for any sign as to what will be triggered once he tries to open it. He can see some sort of blinking red light within the coffin on a small, square electronics panel attached to the interior, and he reasons that it is yet another motion activated booby trap.

            Knowing he must work fast, and realizing that he has been in the secret room for nearly fifteen minutes, he picks up the discarded wooden coffin lid and uses it to protect him again as he grabs the Plexiglas shield and throws it off. He can hear more gears moving and sense the surge of electricity running through the walls, so he seizes Victor and throws him bodily towards the secret passageway. He is directly behind him, throwing off the wooden shield and flying with all speed towards the exit, then he grips his prey’s collar and drags him down the tunnel even as he can feel it collapsing around them.

             _‘Eric!’_  his wife cries in alarm, but he is already safely through the passage by the time he can answer her.

            He clears the secret door with Victor the moment before it slams shut, and he reaches in to grab his hat, Indiana Jones-style at the last second as Sookie’s arms wrap around him, holding him tight.

 _‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’_  she asks, her breath coming in short pants and her heart racing.

            He laughs softly.  _‘I am fine, my lover. No harm done.’_

            She huffs.  _‘And you were so worried about leaving evidence behind! Now what do we do?’_

            He shrugs _. ‘Provided someone knew his resting place, they will assume that he was attacked during the day, but since the electromagnets will keep any witch from seeing what we’ve done, and we’ve concealed our scents, we will not be suspected. Do not worry, my lover. I doubt Sandy will look too closely into the matter. Victor has been nothing but a liability since de Castro took over.’_

            She snorts, but cannot disagree.  _‘Okay, now what?’_

            He looks down at his unconscious prey lying sprawled on the floor beside him. “You were clever, but I’m cleverer,” he taunts.

            “Enough with the gloating. If we’re going to get out of here, we should do it now.”

            “Can’t I have just one moment of evil satisfaction?” he asks.

            She gives him a look and he smiles. She is magnificent when she is angry.

            “Oh, very well. Did you find a blanket?” he questions.

            She shoves a dark purple and charcoal grey comforter at him. “Here.”

            “Thank you. This is perfect.”

            He wraps Victor’s limp body, doing his best not to be too gleeful in front of his mate, and slings him over his shoulder.

             _‘Do you have the net?’_  he asks

             _‘It’s in the gym bag,’_  she tells him.

            He shakes his head. Amazing how something can do such painful damage to a vampire’s skin yet be fine and light enough to fit in a knapsack.

_‘Excellent, my lover. Give it to me.’_

            She reaches into the bag and pulls out the wad of silver, stuffing it into the folds of the comforter to secure it for him.

             _‘Thank you,’_  he says, then leads the way out through the back door. He sends her ahead of him, through the yard to the cover of the neighboring house.

             _‘Make your way back towards the Quarter. I will stash Victor somewhere safe and then come to find you,’_  he tells her.

             _‘You’re going to just leave me here alone?’_

            He smiles because he knows she is more than capable of handling herself.  _‘Of course. Now that you are “pregnant” are you suddenly unable to take care of yourself?’_

            He can feel her irritation and affront to his insult.  _‘You go on, you irritating vamp,’_ she snaps back.

            He sends laughter through the bond, and a sweet promise to return within minutes, and takes off as fast as he can fly. He already has a general idea as to where he wants to go, but the exact location has yet to be determined. He streaks to the wreckage of the Lower Ninth Ward and chooses a derelict house that reeks of mold and rotting flesh. Spray painted on the crumbling exterior is a large X with the code “1DB” in the lowest quadrant and “2 dogs” in the rightmost quadrant, marking the home as the site of three casualties, and he thinks that it is doubtful any vagrants will squat in a house where someone died. He dumps Victor’s body unceremoniously on the filthy floor out of the light and wraps him in the silver net just in case he is able to achieve consciousness during the day, then he flies off to rejoin his mate.

            He finds Sookie walking along St. Charles Avenue, looking completely innocent as if she does not have a bag full of deadly weapons slung over her shoulder, and he lands behind a house in order to appear to casually approach her. She already knows he is there, of course, but makes a show of being surprised to see him. He gives her a kiss and offers his arm, and she slips her hand around his elbow.

 _‘Where to?’_  she asks him.

_‘I am taking you back to our hotel. I want to be assured of your safety before I… attend to my business.’_

_‘Before you torture Victor, you mean,’_  she corrects with some disgust. _‘Where did you put him?’_

_‘He is in a secure location until I can return to him.’_

            She snorts delicately and lets him take them down a side street, away from public view.  _‘I still think you should just stake him. I know that doesn’t feed your inner sadistic bastard, but it’s safer, don’t you think? Isn’t letting him stay alive and toying with him just giving him an opportunity to get the best of you and get away?’_

            He gives her his most shocked and insulted look, and stares at her for a good half minute.  _‘Are you serious?’_

            She backs down a little, but only a little.  _‘You have to admit that **you’d**  try to get away if you were in his place.’_

_‘I would. But I am not Victor and Victor is not me. Once I have you, there is no escape. No one has ever gotten away from me, ever. Victor will die, my lover, and he will die today. I give you my word.’_

_‘You’re just going to make him beg for it,’_  she says with a frown.

 _‘I might not kill him even then,’_  he admits _. ‘I depends on how I feel once he begs. His debt to me is very high and I intend to collect with interest.’_

_‘I wish you wouldn’t do it.’_

            He sighs. Her sense of morality and compassion can be so aggravating at times.

_‘Very well. I promise I will not make Victor beg for death. Does that satisfy you?’_

            She is still frowning, but she knows he will keep his word.  _‘Not really, but it’ll have to do. I know I’m pushing it by asking at all because you really hate him and you’re looking forward to this.’_

 _‘I don’t hate him,’_  he corrects.  _‘He broke the law. He insulted me and degraded you. He belittled me in front of my people and took liberties with something that did not belong to him. He contracted to have us killed. His punishment is my right, and I choose vengeance.’_

_‘But no one will know you are responsible for his death so what is the point of drawing it out?’_

_‘ **I**  will know. I have been keeping track of his transgressions, and he owes me his debt in pain.’_

_‘Do I owe you in pain?’_ she asks sadly. _‘I’ve insulted you and belittled you in front of your people. I’ve flirted with other men and flaunted them under your nose. Are you gonna torture me someday too?’_

            He stares at her aghast, and he cannot believe what she has just said to him. She seems to realize what she’s done and looks apologetic.

 _‘Never,’_  he insists.  _‘You are my bonded. I will never hurt you.’_

            It isn’t true. He  _has_  hurt her. He’s hurt her badly, but she has only a dim memory of that night. It is he who remembers with perfect clarity; it is his punishment and penance to keep hold of those memories and remember the monster he became. It will help him to never lose control like that again.

            He pushes the memory away and lets her feel how much she has hurt him with her careless words, and she softens, reaching for him with a small murmur of apology.

 _‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just that I’m stressed and tired, and you’re gonna torture and kill someone today, and I’m terrified that someone is gonna find us out,’_  she admits, holding him tight, and he can feel her stress and upset through the bond.

            He hugs her and licks her temple, needing to taste her because she’s wounded him, and he needs to be reassured that they can forgive each other.

 _‘It is all right, my love, my Dear One._   _If you are truly worried about us having left any evidence behind, I can torch Victor’s house to make sure we have covered our tracks so to speak.’_

             _‘No. Don’t burn that beautiful house down. That would be too awful.’_

_‘As you wish, my lover.’_

            He steps back a small step, but only enough to turn around so he can offer her his back. He hears her sigh just before she gets on him, her thighs gripping around his hips, and he wonders if there is time for a bout of lovemaking before he returns to Victor. Nothing relaxes his wife like a good orgasm, and, after the afternoon they’ve had, she needs it, especially since he left her unsatisfied in the cemetery. And he wouldn’t mind a couple more ejaculations himself, although he knows that he’ll be so horny when he’s done with killing Victor that he’ll practically fuck Sookie where she stands.

            He takes to the air, flying more slowly now that his burden is precious, until they are a block from Canal Street where he sets her down and they walk at a leisurely pace back into the French Quarter along Royal. He is being slow deliberately because he wants to time his return to Victor just so, to enable him to have ample time to torture him then kill him at sunset when the other vampire is fully awake. It is still over three hours until sundown, and he figures he will be satisfied after two or so hours of tormenting his prey. That gives him an hour to play with, and he is certain that he can find something to occupy the time.

            They get back to the Place D’Armes shortly after 3pm, and his wife is heartily glad to get off her feet and remove the heavy prosthetic. He waits for her as she sheds her disguise and uses the bathroom, sprawling on the bed in a pose he knows she finds appealing.

            “No. Oh no,” she warns when she sees him. “You are not going to have sex with me then go out and kill Victor.”

            She is dressed in her underthings and a pair of thigh high stockings and nothing else. Gods of the Aesir, she is a vixen. He wants her desperately, but he can tell that she is going to take a little convincing.

            “I’m going to have sex with you after I kill Victor, so what’s the big deal with having sex with you before?” he points out reasonably.

            She huffs, but he can already feel the tingle of arousal making its way into the bond. She is remembering the cemetery and her own stymied need, but she is being stubbornly prudish about it. He loves that about her; how she makes him work for it. He lets his hand slide down to the juncture of his hip, spreading his fingers across his thigh to draw her eyes to his crotch where he is already hard and ready. He sees her look at his burgeoning fly and her lip quivers.

            “Eric…” she chides.

            “Lover?” he replies, putting a husky lilt to the word that he knows she will find irresistible.

            “No,” she states firmly, her hands on her hips.

            He smiles. Fine. Hard to get it is, but he’s a master at this game, and she’s only just begun to learn.

            “Do you mind if I pleasure myself since you seem so recalcitrant?” he asks, all sexy innocence.

            Her eyes widen, but he sees her set her jaw.

            “Suit yourself,” she snips, tossing her head a little.

            “Oh, thank you, my lover.”

            He rolls to his back and unzips his fly, letting his hardened erection come out, and he groans with genuine relief as he is freed. He wraps his hand around himself, pulling back the foreskin to let the cooler air blow across the sensitive tip. He feels bad for men who are cut, forced to live a life of diminished pleasure because their parents saw fit to mutilate them, and he wonders if Victor is circumcised. If he isn’t, he soon will be, and the thought makes him shiver with lust and anticipation. His fangs come down and he braces his heels on the mattress as he begins to slide his palm along his length.

            “Just stand there, my lover. I want to look at you while I do this. You are my muse and inspiration.”

            “What am I? A pin-up centerfold?” she snarks, but her eyes are dilating, and he can feel her resolve wavering.

            “I offered you that, but you refused, remember? You wouldn’t let me print a calendar. Are you changing your mind now, lover?”

            She gasps. “No,” she says with some insult, but he notices that she doesn’t move.

            He continues playing and fondling himself, never realizing how much of a turn on jerking-off in the front of his mate could be until now, and he lets out a low, guttural moan. Sookie trembles as she watches him, her hands fisted at her sides, and he knows it isn’t going to take much more. He slides one hand under the sweatshirt to play with his nipples, arching his back from the pleasure, and he lets her see his tongue scraping along his extended fangs.

            That does it. She is on him like a wild thing, panties gone and her strong legs straddling him, as she yanks the denim of his jeans down to further expose him and impales herself on him with a loud cry. He barks his own growl and grips her hips, but he does not try to halt or slow her pace as she rides him like a champion.

            She is glorious, her breasts bouncing as she moves on him, and he rips off her bra because he must have them. He pulls himself up, one hand on her bottom while the other keeps her steady as he seizes one nipple in his mouth and sucks. She wails with ecstasy and grinds down, needing him deep inside her, and he obliges her by bucking upwards to hit her sweet spot.

            “AH!” she shouts, throwing her head back.

            All of her pent up need from the cemetery comes boiling to the surface as she sets a brutal pace, but he is with her, needing as much as her, loving as much as her, and he thrills to see her so uninhibited. But astride has its limits as a sexual position, and no one can ride her the way he can, not even herself, so he waits for the right moment then pushes up with his hands to send her upwards. The moment she disengages, he is moving, flipping her over to her knees and mounting her from behind. She barely has time to register what’s happening before he is pounding into her just the way she wants it.

            “Eric! Eric!” she cries, pushing back, her hands clutching the bedspread. “I love you! I love you!”

            He growls and snarls, yanking her onto him, his eyesight narrowing down to a single point of focus as feels his control slipping. She arches her spine, offering herself even more, and he loses it completely. Her scream joins his as she comes hard, pulling his own climax right out of his balls, and he roars with her, shuddering violently as the aftershocks make him dizzy.

            She collapses underneath him, and he can do nothing but go with her because he is still inside her, and they end up in a tangled heap on the bed. He knocks the air right out of her, she lets out a deep huff like a bellows, and he somehow finds it funny.

             _‘What are you laughing at?’_  she asks, but her own thoughts are laced with amusement.

             _‘Nothing,’_ he replies, getting his arms under him to push up off of her.

            He disengages and falls in beside her, gathering her up in his arms as he nuzzles her lovingly. He’ll have to fix his paint, but at the moment he doesn’t care.

             _‘I love you,’_  he says, breathing in her scent and letting himself come down from the high.

            “Mmmm. It’s a good thing,” she murmurs, snuggling close.

            “Yes, it is,” he wholeheartedly agrees, but refrains from getting any mushier by admitting that she’s the best thing that ever happened to him. She knows anyway.

            Besides, it is his all-encompassing love for her that makes it so necessary that he kill Victor and everyone like him. If he gains a reputation for protecting Sookie with extreme prejudice (he loves that term!), then others will think twice about challenging him or trying to harm his wife. In this, she simply does not understand that in a world full of depraved killers, only depraved killing will get the message across. Not to mention that he needs the kill. He needs to see Victor suffer as retribution for all the times he’s had to swallow the urge to rip Victor’s head off, and he’ll be unsatisfied if he does not have the opportunity to gloat over Victor’s agony.

            He holds her for a few minutes, letting her drift on the soft wave of love and pleasure, before he gently pulls away from her.

            “I should go,” he says and she frowns at him.

            “Will you let me come with you?”

            He leers wickedly. “I’m always delighted to have you  _come_  with me,  _lover_ , however in this instance, no, you may not  _accompany_  me. You must stay here where it is safe.”

            She snorts. “But what if Victor gets away?”

            “I assure you that Victor is not getting away. You must trust me in this, my love, and let me do what I must. And believe me when I tell you that you do not want to bear witness to what I do to him.”

            “Am I allowed not to like it?” she asks, her worried expression odd on her flushed face.

            “Of course. I would be worried if my bloodthirsty urges were all right with you. It is your disgust and concern that remind me of what I am, what I was, and what I want to be,” he answers.

            “What is it that you want to be?”

            “A man. A man who is worthy of you,” he admits softly, with some surprise.

            He realizes that this is true, and it rocks his world for a moment. Of course he does not want her to see him at his most cruel and depraved because he knows it will shock her to her very core, but now he also understands that he doesn’t want her to see him that way because he wants her to believe that part of him is still remotely human. He needs her to see him as the man who loves her, and not the master vampire who has spent the last millennium slaughtering his way through the world. Somehow what she thinks of him became important, and he wonders when that happened because it feels older than the few short months they have been mated.

            “You’re not a man,” she states firmly, and he looks askance at her with not a little worry. “You’re a vampire. If you were a man, I couldn’t be with you because then I’d be able to hear everything you were thinking all of the time, and that would be too hard for me.”

            “But we share thoughts now,” he reminds gently.

            “That’s not the same. I don’t hear you unless I’m listening. I’m not in your head unless I want to be. That’s a big difference.”

            He thinks on that for a moment, trying to determine what the difference really is, but figures it makes sense to her even if he has no idea what she’s talking about. Then again, he hasn’t spent his entire life blocking out the unwanted thoughts of others, so perhaps he cannot understand what she means. It is enough that she accepts it, and that is good enough for him.

            “You were right, you know, what you said to me in the car on the way back from Jackson. I was ruined for human men. Maybe I’d been ruined all along, and it took me meeting a vampire for me to realize that. A telepathic barmaid with a fairy for a great-grandfather? Maybe I was doomed from the beginning,” she says wistfully.

            “In that case, your learning about the existence of vampires can be seen as a blessing because it introduced you to a set of beings who could love you and be loved by you,” he replies.

            “Yeah,” she agrees, propping her cheek up on one elbow. “I guess I should be grateful to Bill for that. If he’d never been sent to seduce me, I’d never have known I couldn’t hear vamps, and I’d never have had the chance to be close to someone like that.”

            “And you never would have met me,” he comments with a small, smug smile.

            She sighs theatrically, a smile tugging at her lips. “And oh how much quieter my life would be.”  

            He huffs. “You don’t want quiet. You love the excitement.”

            “No, I don’t,” she argues, insulted.

            “Sookie, my dear, you’re forgetting my bullshit meter. Besides, I know your heart. You love the supernatural world. We’re the only ones who have ever accepted you for who you are. We’re the only ones who have loved you freely.”

            She snorts bitterly. “Loved me freely. Yeah, right.”

            “Bill did love you,” he tells her carefully. “He did.”

            She sighs again. “Yeah. Guess I knew that already.”

            “Yes. But he did not love you like I love you.”

            “How do you love me?” she teases.

            “You have to ask? Just touch our bond and you will know the depths of my love for you.”

            She quibbles a little, looking girlish and sulky. “It’s still nice to hear it…”

            He chuckles and leans forward to cup her cheek and kiss her. “I love you.”  _‘I love you with everything I am. Everything I have is yours for the asking. I would bend the very heavens to my will for you. There is nothing that I would not do for you, my lover.’_

_‘Even kill Victor quickly?’_

            Now it is his turn to sigh.  _‘This again? You know that is something I cannot do.’_

_‘Yeah, I know. Just figured I’d ask again.’_

            “Why is it so important to you?”

            She shrugs. “I dunno. I just worry, that’s all, and I don’t like the idea of anyone being tortured. I saw what that vamp ho did to Bill, and it was terrible. I don’t like the idea of anyone suffering like that, not even Victor.”

            “Lorena was an amateur. She knew nothing about how to use pain to extract information. If I had been the one to torture Bill, he would have told me anything I’d wished to know by the time I was through with him.”

            “So did not need to know that,” she counters with disgust.

            “Forgive me, my lover. You are right. You did not need to know that.”

            She’s silent for a minute, and he thinks now is a good time to change out of the stolen sweatshirt and fix his paint.

            “Bill tried to explain it to me once,” she says suddenly, commanding his attention. “He tried to explain how vampires weren’t human, and how they got carried away sometimes, like he did in Dallas when Stan’s place was attacked.”

            He nods, remembering. That was the first night Sookie had ever had his blood, and the bullet she sucked from his shoulder now resides in his Hammer. He loves to run his finger over the rounded surface and content himself with the memory of the first time he’d felt her sucking his skin.

            “Bill is young. He lost control of his lust that night. He ran off and abandoned you.”

            “But you didn’t,” she counters. “You stuck by me and protected me, and you did the same thing when I got staked at Club Dead.”

            “I am older. I am in much better control of my urges.”

            “Yeah, you are, but you’re still a vamp, and vamps hunt.”

            “Yes,” he confirms. “There is nothing like a good hunt and then a fight, followed by very satisfying sex.”

            “In that order, huh?” she comments wryly.

            “Well, it is always best to have sex after the fight, instead of fighting after sex. That usually does not lead to more sex,” he explains.

            “And more sex is preferable.”

            “Of course.”

            He looks at her, keeping his eyes wide and honest, and it only takes her a moment before she starts to snicker. He smiles back, reaching up to touch the tip of her nose with his finger. It’s a silly gesture, but it makes her smile more.

            “I love you,” he says with simple honesty.

            “I love you, too, Eric.”

            He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Those words from your mouth are sweet music.”

            “You’re just angling for more sex.”

            He grins. “Always, but not right now. I must go, my lover. It is nearly two hours before sundown.”

            She sobers and nods. “Yeah. I know.”

            “I am sorry that I am making you unhappy with my choices.”

            “No, I understand. It’s me I’m most worried about. I’m about to let you go out and torture and murder somebody, and it scares me that I’m almost okay with that,” she tells him, her face concerned and thoughtful.

            He frowns and makes her look at him.

            “Victor is scum. He would do the same to me if our positions were reversed, and the gods know what he would do to you if you were not under protection. He would defile you in the most despicable ways simply because you were mine and defied him. He would not stop at merely breaking you; he would shatter your very soul and rob you of all of your willpower. You would be his slave until he tired of you, then he would drain you and either turn you or leave you for dead.”

            She blanches and shivers. “I know.”

            “Then you understand that there is no other course of action.”

            “Yeah, I know. You gotta kill Victor. And it ain’t gonna be pretty. And I’m glad I’m not gonna be there. But you gotta do it.”

            “Yes.

She sighs and rolls to her back, giving him tacit permission to leave the bed. “Okay, but you promised not to make him beg. I’ll hold you to that, and I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

            “You have my word. Victor will not beg for mercy or death,” he promises.

            “Okay.”

            They share another look, and he sends his love and devotion across the bond, before he leaves the bed. She stays there, limbs akimbo and her body sprawled across the wide mattress, and watches him as he fixes his paint and changes into a clean, button-up, long-sleeved shirt.

            “Will you come back here for me or should I meet you somewhere?” she asks.

            “I will return here.”

            “I’m gonna be hungry,” she reminds.

            He leers at her in the mirror. “So will I. But I will be sure to feed you, my lover. I’ll feed you and fuck you and feed from you, and fuck you again…”

            “Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna bite me and fuck me and rub yourself all over me,” she interrupts with a lazy wave of her hand.

            “Oh yes. But I would also encourage you to choose a place where you would like to have supper. We’ll go anywhere you like.”

            “Hmmph. How about home?”

            “If that is what you want, my lover. We can stop for your supper along the way.”

            “I think I’d like that most of all. I want to go back to Ruston tonight.”

            He is done fixing his disguise so he goes to her and gives her a kiss. “Then to Ruston we will go,” he agrees without reservation.

            “Come back soon.”

            “Not until after sunset, but expect me before seven.”

            The clock reads 3:53. Sunset is shortly after six.

            “Okay,” she says.

            He smiles at her and puts on his cowboy hat, patting the top of it as he reaches for the knapsack.

            “Be safe,” he tells her.

            “You be safe. I’m not going to leave this room.”

            “Answer the door for no one,” he warns.

            “Got it. I’ll pretend to be a cranky pregnant lady who just wants to sleep.”

            He laughs. “The cranky just-wants-to-sleep part should be easy for you. You beg off on me all of the time because you are tired.”

            “Get out of here before I stake you with your own weapon.”

            He chuckles and slips out the door. The moment the lock clicks home, he lets the veneer of civility fall away as his true vampire nature comes out, and he runs to the Lower Ninth Ward in a gleeful sprint. His shape is nothing but a blur to the passersby, a mere rush of wind as he moves too fast for them to see, and he makes his way back to the derelict house in record time even for one of his kind.

            He scans the neighborhood for any signs of life or activity, but there is nothing. He has chosen an area of almost complete destruction, and none of the former residents have returned to what is left of their homes. He and Victor are alone in the wrecked neighborhood where houses have been ripped from their moorings and ripped in half, so there will be no one to hear his victim’s choked cries. He smiles to himself and enters the ruined house.

            The silver-wrapped blanket is exactly where he left it, and he takes some time to unpack the bag and set up a few things before he begins. His Hammer is glowing bright silver now, and he pulls it out from under his shirt. He rarely has the opportunity to show it off, and he wouldn’t deprive Victor of the chance to see why all of his schemes were doomed to fail.

            When he is ready, he unwraps his prey, humming an old Norse battle hymn under his breath as he pulls away the silver net and purple comforter, and he takes no care to be gentle as he dumps the unconscious body on the cracked and filthy linoleum floor of what was once a kitchen. The dying light is coming in from the shattered windows, but they are well in the shadows. Using sunlight to burn a victim is so blasé anyway.

            Crouching down beside Victor, he decides which way he will go first. There are so many opening moves he can make, and which one he chooses will set the tone for the entire session. Finally, he goes with brutal but effective, and he reaches for a small silver chain about three feet long, then he slaps Victor lightly on the cheek.

            “Victor,” he calls in a sing-song voice. “Wakey wakey.” His prey remains unresponsive so he slaps him again, a little harder this time. “Oh, Victor. Wakey wakey.”

            Nothing.

            “Oh come now, Victor. It’s two hours to sunset, you ought to be regaining consciousness by now.”

            Most vampires begin to stir an hour or two before sundown, rising slowly from the daytime stupor. Age has some effect on it but some vampires are better at it than others. He has always been what has been considered an early riser, and he can wake and keep hold on his mind with some effort. William Compton is especially good at regaining and keeping consciousness during the day, but Pam has almost no talent in that area at all. He as no idea how good Victor is at it, but he is about to find out.

            He punches Madden right across the jaw, and that gets a groan and an eye-flutter from him. He grins, his fangs running down.

            “That’s a little better.”

            He grabs Victor’s arm and breaks it at the elbow with a quick wrench. He can hear the crack of the bone snapping, and it’s a very satisfying sound. Even more satisfying is Victor’s resulting scream as his prey’s eyes open wide.

            “Hello Victor,” he greets, leering down into the shocked and confused face.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

            “Hello, Victor.”

            “Guhh,” comes the gurgled answer.

            “Are you awake now?”

            “Unn nuhhh,” his prey groans incoherently as his eyes glaze over, and it looks like he might lose consciousness again.

            It appears that dear Victor Madden is not very good at keeping awake during the day, but that pain is a good motivator. That works fine by him.

            “Now, now, Victor. No falling asleep on me. That’s just rude,” he taunts, then slaps the silver chain into Victor’s palm.

            He hears and smells the metal burning his victim’s flesh as Victor’s eyes open wide again.

            “Nnnneeee-uuuuhhhhhhhh!”

            “That’s better. Do you know who I am, Victor?” he purrs maliciously.

            The dark eyes search his face, and he knows what Victor sees: a red-skinned Indian with brown eyes and black hair. He tsks.

            “I see that you don’t. Here, let me help you.”

            He takes off his cowboy hat and plucks the contact lenses from his eyes. He tosses the infernal things into the rubble because he won’t need them anymore. If anyone sees him without them and notices, he’ll just glamour them into forgetting.

            “Recognize me now?”  

            There is still no clarity in Victor’s eyes, and torturing him is no fun if he doesn’t know who is doing the torturing. He shakes his head and wonders how Madden ever got to be a Sheriff. He unbuttons his shirt, and lets his Hammer rest against his white chest with its blond chest hair, and drops down his fangs.

            “Now do you know who I am?” he asks, showing full fang.

            His prey’s eyes open wider and he knows that Victor recognizes his captor now.

            “N-n-nnoorrrr….”

            “Northman,” he provides pleasantly. “Eric Northman. Good. I’m glad you recognize me. That will make torturing you so much more fun.”

            He takes four stakes, letting Victor see them and wonder what he is going to do with them, before ramming one into each of Victor’s limbs and impaling him, spread-eagled to the floor. Victor screams, but there is nothing he can do because Eric follows up the impaling with silver chains draped across Victor’s ankles and wrists. He is pinned and bound with silver. He cannot move, and the sight of his victim lying helpless on the linoleum makes him incredibly hard. He breathes in the sweet scent of pain and growing fear, wafting it into his nostrils like a perfume or the smell of a beloved woman.

            “I can see you have questions,” he says in a conversational tone, as if he were not now sharpening a long knife on a whetting stone in full view of his prey. “How can I be so awake during the day you wonder. How is it that silver does not seem to weaken or burn me?”

            He puts down the sharpened blade, then takes the thin chain he used to burn Victor’s palm and makes sure Victor is watching as he opens his own mouth and slips the silver into it. He is careful not to disturb the magic mint leaf adhered to the underside of his tongue as he theatrically pulls the chain from between his lips.

            “I’m blessed by the Gods themselves, asshole,” he hisses, dangling the chain in Victor’s face, and drawing attention to his shining Hammer.

            Victor snarls, his own fangs coming down, and Eric can see that he is getting his head together. “Y-you w-wi-ll  ** _die_**  f-for t-this, V-Vi-king.”

            “Tsk tsk. Well, I might, but I doubt it. See, no one is going to suspect me. You disappeared in the middle of the day, and everyone knows vampires are dead asleep in daytime, so it could not possibly be me. And since no one knows I am here, and I will be back home in Shreveport tonight, no one will have any reason to even consider that I’ve done this. And, since you’ll be dead, there won’t be anyone to identify me.”

            He gives Victor a happy grin, then the smile slides from his face as he uses his bare hand to ram into Victor’s throat and rip out his larynx, dropping the silver chain into the hole so it can’t heal. Victor jerks and makes incoherent noises, but without a voice box he is effectively silenced.

            “As much as I would love to hear you scream, I promised my mate that I wouldn’t make you beg for mercy or death,” he explains, tossing the dismembered larynx on the dirty floor and wiping his bloody hand on Victor’s white shirt. “Of course, I didn’t tell her that it would be because you couldn’t beg at all. I fear my Dear One hasn’t figured out the finer points of parlay with a vampire.”

            He checks his watch. It is 4:21pm.

            “Hmmmm. I have almost two hours until sunset. How ever shall I pass the time?” he asks, looking up and putting a finger to the corner of his mouth innocently. “Oh! I know! I can play pin the stake in the vampire.”

            He takes four more stakes and rams one in each of Victor’s knees and elbows, making sure to shred the joint and cartilage, then he takes a few individual links of silver from Victor’s own net and drops them into each wound.

            “Recognize this?” he questions, holding up the net. “It fell on me. Had I not been wearing my Hammer, you might have had me. I’d been able to use the lid of your own coffin to protect me from your stakes, but that net could very well have weakened me enough to pin me under it. Lucky for me, I guess. Not so lucky for you.”

            Victor lets out a stifled moan. The silver is burning through his throat, and soon he will not be able to make noise at all. If he leaves the silver there, however, it might actually decapitate him, and he doesn’t want Victor to die that way.

            “Now, now. I’m not done having fun,” he says, plucking the silver chain from the hole in Victor’s neck. “Can’t have you dying on me prematurely. There’s nothing more embarrassing than having a torture victim die too soon. It shows a lack of restraint and skill unbecoming in a vampire of my stature.”

            He pools the chain in his palm, then rips open Victor’s shirt and lays it in a heart shape on Victor’s chest. He takes a few more links from the net and put them in the neck wound. They will keep the hole from closing, but won’t cut off his victim’s head.

            I wish I had a few days to torture you,” he admits. “I owe you hours and hours of pain for touching my mate and belittling me in front of my people. And I owe you vengeance for killing my Queen and my colleagues in Felipe’s take-over, and turning my whole, ordered life into complete  ** _shit._** ”

            He takes a set of pincers and clamps them onto Victor’s nipples, making sure to rip the nubs of flesh nearly in half. Victor jerks and lets out a gurgling moan.

            “I was the Queen’s Sheriff for a hundred years,” he says, pouring salt water into the bleeding wounds on Victor’s chest. “I was happy. I had my little Area of Louisiana. My businesses were profitable. I had the respect and willing service of my minions. The Queen regarded me highly enough to pretty much leave me alone. My life was good. I was courting a fascinating, little telepath with the most gorgeous breasts and a spunky personality. Things could not have been better.”

            He sighs, longing for better days, and looks around the wrecked house with disgust. The collapsing building is an excellent example of what was left of his cushy life after Katrina and Rhodes.

            “Then a fucking hurricane came and wrecked everything, and those human scum from the Fellowship of the Sun blew up the hotel my Queen and I were in. They almost killed me, my child, and my Sookie, and my Queen was badly wounded.”

            “But we could have recovered from all of that. Sophie-Anne was alive and healing; we Sheriffs were handling everything during her convalescence. We had it all under control.”

            He says the last with a hard edge to his voice as he picks up a pair of needle-nose pliers from his arsenal.

            “Then your King, weak coward that he is, chose to attack while my Queen was healing in a coup aided by my Sookie’s former lover, and I was forced to surrender to de Castro’s reign in order to protect my people. My position is tenuous, my loyalty suspect, and now I must kiss ass to a vampire who is beneath me.”

            He takes the pliers and rips out both of Victor’s fangs. If vampires had any real circulation he would have been covered in spraying blood by now, but because they do not Victor’s blood spills out in sluggish pools, staining his lips and running down his chin.

            “And if that wasn’t insult enough, there’s you, my friend. You have been the - what do the humans say? The icing on the cake.”

            He considers gouging out his victim’s eyes, but decides against it because he wants Victor to see what’s coming. Since Victor can’t scream, the only feedback he is getting are the looks on Victor’s face.

            “It wasn’t enough for you to kill my Queen or the other Sheriffs, or threaten to burn down my bar and my Sookie’s home. No. You had to try to kill me when my Sookie and I returned from our trip.” He forces open Victor’s jaw and grabs the end of Victor’s tongue with the pliers. “You sent your goons to murder me and take Sookie, then you had the audacity to confront me in my own bar. And  ** _then_** , you had the gall to  _glamour_  and  _lick my woman_ on the night of our bonding announcement. You don’t even have the right to  ** _say her name!_** ”

            He yanks the pliers with a sharp tug and rips Victor’s tongue right out of his mouth. Victor tries to scream, but the only sound he makes is wheezing noise as blood froths from the wound in his throat. He thrashes and jerks, but because he is nailed to the floor in eight places, he can do nothing but twitch in agony.

            Eric laughs and looks at the torn lump of mangled flesh. “Well, you won’t be talking now for sure.”

            He takes a lighter and sets the tongue on fire, letting it burn right it front of Victors face.

            “Well, at least you know how we survived the attack you set against us. My Sookie beheaded one of the bastards herself. She was glorious. A trueValkyrie. Too bad you’ll never see her as a vampire. She’ll be ten times the vamp you ever were.”

            He surveys his handiwork, wondering what he should do next. He doesn’t want to use fire too much because it smells, and he doesn’t want to risk setting the house (what’s left of it) ablaze. He’d like to skin certain parts of his prey because he knows skinning a live victim is extremely painful, but he wants to save that for later. His eyes fall on the Tazer he had in his bag and he grins, reaching for it.

            “I think the discovery of electricity was an amazing thing, don’t you think?” he asks in a conversational tone as he hooks the ends of the weapon’s electrified cords to the pincers on Victor’s nipples.

            He turns the Tazer on and watches in satisfaction as Victor’s body spasms uncontrollably, then he takes the salt water, pours more on Victor’s chest, and Tazes him again. The reaction is much more satisfying in its intensity.

            “Oh, how I would love to strip you naked, immerse you in salt water, and just electrocute you on a daily basis for a few years. I was the one who came up with that punishment, you know – submerging a vampire in saline. My Queen loved that. She used it on one of her most favored servants when she discovered that he’d been stealing from her. Ironic that the same vampire later murdered my Sookie’s cousin.”

            He contents himself with Tazing Victor a few more times before unhooking the ends and moving them down to his victim’s groin. He rips open Victor’s pants and tears away the thin scrap of underwear beneath.

            “Well, at least I know what religion you aren’t,” he comments as he attaches the Tazer ends to Victor’s scrotum. Victor gurgles pitifully, but he just laughs. “Oh, I am nowhere near done with you.”

            He hits the button on the Tazer and watches as the electricity makes Victor’s body jerk like a Grand Mal seizure. It also makes Victor erect, and he notes that his prey’s endowment cannot even compare to his own gracious plenty. But he didn’t do it to make sure that he is more of a man than Madden, he did it to make it easier to cleanly slice off Victor’s foreskin as neatly as any trained Moyle.

            “I’ve been told that this is an acceptable practice because it’s apparently cleaner and helps prevent infection. I think it’s the mutilation of a man’s most essential organ,” he says, examining the scrap of bloody flesh. “And they called  ** _my_**  people barbaric.”

            Victor is weeping. Blood tears are streaking down his pale face, and his lips are pulled back in a grimace of anguish, but he does not appear to be anywhere close to breaking.

            “Oh, don’t cry, Victor. A vampire of your position should never cry, although I can’t say I’m not pleased by it. Now I’m taking a survey. Would you say your level of pain is mild, moderate, severe, or please kill me now?”

            The hate in Victor’s eyes would kill him where he kneels if there was any power behind it, but his prey’s defiance is concerning. Victor is in agony, and he knows he is going to die, but he is too peaceful, too calm. That means Victor knows something Eric does not, and that can never be anything good.

            Too bad Victor doesn’t know he can draw and piggyback on his wife’s Gift even when she is two miles away. Not bothering to wipe his bloody hand, he seizes Victor’s head and forces his mind into his.

_‘What do you know?!’_

            Victor’s eyes open wide, and he leers triumphantly as the images start coming. A failsafe if he should go missing; a system of alarms that will go off if codes are not inputted right after sunset, an automatic alert to human and vampire agents should he not check in, and a series of secret, hidden cameras tucked in the walls of the house that would record any intruders. Victor is calm because he knows Eric has been caught on film.

             ** _‘Where?!’_**  he demands.

            Victor tries to keep him out, tries to protect his thoughts and mind from the coming onslaught, but Eric will not be denied. Sookie may be tentative and humane when seeking information from a subject, but he holds none of her mortal sentimentality or moral compass. She would be appalled by what he is about to do, although he knows she has it in herself to do the same thing. The difference is she would never commit the crime that he is more than willing to execute.

            With a vicious snarl, he mentally rends Victor’s protections and rapes his victim’s mind, scouring through it like the band of brigands he used to command. He pillages the deepest corners of Victor’s brain and drags the answers, kicking and wailing, out by their hair. Locations, codes, names, secret passageways into hidden, soundproofed rooms – even a locked chamber where Victor hoped to imprison Sookie once he had taken her.

            His rage knows no bounds because all the filthy defilements that Victor had planned for his wife come spewing out like sewage on a hot summer day. Horrible visions of his beautiful Sookie broken and bleeding, and used in any number of despicable ways. Not even he, depraved 1000 year-old killer that he is, would ever conceive or commit the horrors that Victor intended to visit upon his bonded.

            He roars.

            “Would that I had an eternity to kill you, but I do not,” he seethes, ripping himself out of Victor’s thoughts and leaving his victim’s mind a mangled mess.

            With one swift stroke, he slices off Victor’s member and shoves it violently down Victor’s throat, then he takes the same knife and rends open Victor’s chest. He uses his bare hands to grab the cracked sternum and pull apart Victor’s ribcage, exposing the heart and lungs.

            With a vicious glee and boiling fury, he takes the toothpick from the fifth pocket of his jeans and shows it to Victor.

            “Go to Hifhel,” he growls and rams the toothpick into his victim’s heart.

            He grabs Victor’s head and makes him look him straight in the eyes as the consciousness in them fades in the fog of death. The brown eyes lose their focus as Victor’s face begins to collapse, the cheeks sinking into the skull, the skin flaking like ashes from an old campfire. When the head in his hands starts to soften, he crushes the bones and grinds them down into the linoleum.

            But his fury is not satisfied. He must dismember and shatter the remaining bones, even as they disintegrate into dust, and he would grab Victor’s soul and rend that to pieces of if he could. He is still snarling and seeing red long after there is nothing left of Victor Madden but his bloody clothes. He looks at his watch. It is 4:48pm. He has just over an hour to get back to Sookie and get over to Victor’s house to retrieve the hard drive from the computer attached to the hidden cameras.

            With vampire speed, he gathers up his tools and weapons and Victor’s clothes, and shoves them into the knapsack, being careful even in his haste to make sure he is leaving nothing behind. Soon no one will be able to tell that a vampire died here, but it always serves to be thorough. When he is done packing up his supplies, he shoves the cowboy hat back on his head and whips out a disposable cell phone, calling his mate’s disposable phone.

            “Yes?” his wife’s voice asks nervously. She can feel his rage through the bond, and he can feel her fear.

            “Get all of our things together and be ready to go. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

            “Eric, what’s wrong?”

            “I don’t have time to explain. Obey me. I will be there very soon.”

            He hangs up, shoving the phone back into his pocket almost hard enough to rip the denim. If his wife is pissed about being told to obey, he can’t really care; besides, she knows him well enough to know that he would not order her to do anything if it was not vitally important that she comply.

            He slips out of the abandoned house and takes to the air, flying with all speed back to the French Quarter. He lands in a back alley across from Esplanade and makes the rest of his way on foot. It is 4:54 when he enters the courtyard of the Place D’Armes hotel and approaches the courtyard room.

             _‘I am here. Open up,’_  he calls as he nears the door.

            He can hear his wife’s heavy breathing and frantic heart beat, her thoughts a chaotic mess of fear and confusion, as she rushes to the door.

             _‘Eric! What is wrong?!’_  she demands as he shoves his way past her. She’s done the best she can do with only six minutes’ notice, but they are mostly packed and she is mostly dressed.

            He begins gathering up the rest of their things, all the while trying to explain what has happened.

             _‘Victor is dead, but I discovered that he has hidden cameras in his home. We have to get to them and destroy the hard drive where the recordings are stored.’_

 _‘What’s to say the videos aren’t being automatically sent to some security company somewhere?’_  she counters worriedly.

            He shakes his head and swiftly shoves the wig on his wife’s head. She’s already put on the prosthetic, and she is wiggling her way into her maternity dress.

             _‘No. He would not risk the images being transmitted where they could be intercepted and put on the Internet. The video is fed to a computer and stored locally,’_ he answers.

 _‘My God! Your hands are covered in blood,’_  she cries.

            He shrugs and surveys the room. They have everything.

             _‘C’mon. We have to get to Victor’s house before sunset,’_  he tells her, taking her by the arm.

            He practically shoves her out the door. They have to get to the truck. They have to get to the Garden District. It is nearly five o’clock on a Monday. Traffic is going to be a problem. He may have to leave Sookie and have her follow behind. As they rush into the courtyard, they have the unfortunate luck of running into the clerk from this morning.

            “Oh! Hi y’all,” Brandy greets. “How are you doin’? Did you have a good day?”

            His wife is scrambling for something to say, but she’s flushed and practically quivering with tension. Brandy sees her distress and looks from her to him, noting quickly that he looks different.

            “Hey, what’s going on here? Wait a minute! You had brown eyes this morning,” the idiot woman blurts, then her eyes open wide when she sees his hands. “Fucking hell! Your hands are all bloody!”

            He is in no mood to be polite or charitable. In seconds he seizes control of her mind and holds her motionless.

             _‘Don’t hurt her!’_  his wife insists.

            He snarls, but obeys. “You never saw us. As far as you know, we are still in our room. You have no idea where we went or when we left. It’s not your job to baby-sit the guests, and you’re angry that your boss is getting on your back about every little, stupid thing. In fact, you’ve decided to quit. You’re going to leave New Orleans, move to Hollywood and audition for American Idol.”

             _‘Eric!’_

 _‘I didn’t hurt her,’_  he counters, giving her a little push past the stunned girl and ushering her out of the courtyard before Brandy snaps out of it.

            They are in the truck and out of the parking garage by 5:06pm. He turns left out of the lot onto Royal and takes them down the one-way street to Canal. Traffic is already slow and heavy, and he knows he is running out of time.

             _‘Eric…’_  his wife tries, responding to his tension.

             _‘Listen to me,’_  he replies.  _‘I want you to take the truck and get out of the city. Get on the interstate and head west. There is a Wal-mart in Kenner. Go there. Buy both of us a set of new clothing. I will come to you there, understood?’_

_‘Eric, I don’t like this. We shouldn’t be separated.’_

_‘I am faster on my own, and I need to get to Victor’s house before sundown. Obey me,’_ he states, trying to impress his mind on her.

            She gives him a mental slap.  _‘I get that you’re scared. I do. But that doesn’t mean you can order me around.’_

_‘I am trying to keep both of us alive, woman.’_

_‘If you’d just killed Victor right away, we’d be long gone by now.’_

_‘No. If I’d killed him right away, I would never have learned about the hidden cameras or the secret codes that have to be put into the security system at sundown.’_

_‘There’s a code?’_  she repeats, beginning to understand.

_‘Yes. If it is not put in by a quarter after six, an alarm goes out to Victor’s minions.’_

_‘Where’s the keypad?’_

_‘In his coffin.’_

            She gasps.  _‘How are you going to get in there? The tunnel’s sealed shut.’_

            He grips the steering wheel, remembering the secret room Victor had prepared for Sookie. ‘ _There is another way in. I also have the code to disarm the primary system from the outside._ ’

            They have made it to Canal, but the traffic signal is red, and it is the perfect opportunity to switch drivers. He opens the truck’s door and hops out as Sookie slides across the seat.

             _‘When you stop at the Wal-mart, get me a razor too,’_  he says, giving her a quick kiss.

             _‘Be careful!’_  she tells him, grabbing his hand.

             _‘I will. Don’t worry about me. Get yourself safely out of the city.’_

_‘I love you.’_

_‘I love you, too. I will find you. Now go. Make me proud.’_

            She gives him an anguished look, but lets him go, and he hurries across Canal. As soon as he is out of sight, he takes to the air and streaks to the Garden District. There is more traffic and activity as people return from work, but he pays them no mind, knowing he is moving too fast for them to see.

            Victor’s house is exactly the way they left it, and he quickly puts on a pair of leather gloves that he grabbed from their bags at the last minute and turns on the electromagnet in his pocket. The code he ripped out of Victor’s mind works to unlock the back door, and he enters the mansion with purpose. Using the mental map he made from information gleaned out of Victor’s head, he finds the secret passage that leads to the room where the computer is kept, and he opens the case carefully to remove the hard drive. If he’d wanted, he could have just ripped open the case and crushed the contents, but then investigators would know that a Supernatural being had been the one to invade Victor’s house. Let them think a human did this. Maybe he can even find a way to blame it on the Fellowship of the Sun.

            He moves with a sense of urgency, acutely aware of the time and the minutes ticking to sundown. He puts the hard drive in his pocket and makes his way through another passage to the windowless room Victor had designed for Sookie. Like the computer room it is soundproofed, but instead of a desk and monitor, it is outfitted with an iron-framed bed and the manacles that would have imprisoned his wife are already dangling from the headboard. He wants to wreck the room, but he knows he can’t. Instead he touches another secret panel located at the back of the closet in the room, and he slips into a tunnel that leads to the coffin chamber.

            He checks his watch. It is 5:37pm. Sunset is at 6:04pm so he has about twenty minutes to make sure he has left nothing behind that could implicate him in the crime. He picks up the stakes that are littered on the floor and resets them in the holes in the walls and coffin. The mechanisms are simple spring-loaded traps set to release their projectiles on an electronic trigger, and all he has to do is put the stakes into them and push until he feels the springs lock back into place. The hatches that pull back to reveal the weapons are still open, but he suspects that they will close once the alarm system is reset. There is no extra silver net to replace the one he took, but he is not interested in perfection. If the silver net is missing, that will only lead investigators towards a non-vampire culprit.

            The Plexiglas lid is still attached to the coffin and he checks the hinges, bending one back into place. The hinges for the wooden lid are snapped off, but that is fine because he can make it look as if the coffin was pried open. He sees the little keypad in the coffin and he looks at his watch again. He must time the input of the code correctly. If he puts it in too soon, someone will know there is something wrong well before he wants anyone to know that Victor is missing.

            He checks the tunnel that leads to the front room. Heavy doors have closed at either end and metal panels have pushed forward, intended to crush anyone unlucky enough to get caught when the alarm system goes off. He almost wishes he had a body to shove into the passageway, preferably someone with a Fellowship of the Sun card in his pocket (it worked so well for Charles Twining), but there is no time to go out and find some hapless mortal to kill, crush and shove into the tunnel. Sookie would be unhappy with him if he did that anyway.

            Now that everything is relatively set, he calms down a little and can devote some time to figuring out how he can frame the Fellowship for Victor’s disappearance. He takes his pocketknife and carves the words “God Hates Fangs” in the wooden lid of the coffin, taking care to make the gouges shallow enough to look like a human made them, then he takes the knife and rips up the padded lining inside the casket. It’s crude, but it’s good enough, and he hopes it will effectively throw off the scent, so to speak. He could do with some spray paint, but there is none, and that might be a bit of overkill.

            He knows the moment it is sunset because the mint leaf in his mouth turns into horrid-tasting foaming goo, but this time he is ready for it, and he keeps control over his gag reflex. The foam is putrid and fills his sinuses with its disgusting stench, but he holds it in his mouth as he waits another five minutes. His fingers twitch, and he clenches and unclenches his fists, until he feels he has waited long enough, and he inputs the proper code on the keypad. Immediately the security system disengages and resets itself, reopening the passage to the front room and closing all of the weapons ports.

            Once the system is finished its cycle, he quickly slips out of the coffin chamber and out the back door, re-inputting the code to lock the doors. No one will suspect that Victor is missing until he does not show up at his offices downtown (In a show of arrogance and insult that made Eric grit his teeth, Victor had claimed Sophie-Anne’s old headquarters as his own, and had installed himself there), and he and Sookie should be well out of New Orleans by the time someone realizes that something is wrong.

            Cutting across three streets, he takes a few seconds to retch out the horrid foam into a hedge and wipes his face. The action smears his paint, but he does not care because all too soon he will be shedding his disguise for good. When he is done spitting out the terrible stuff, he takes to the air again and flies northwest towards Kenner. His internal tracking device tells him exactly where his wife is located, and he homes in on her with flawless accuracy. He makes a quick detour to visit a well-known branch of the Fellowship of the Sun where he stashes Victor’s bloodied clothes, and one of the stakes he used to pin Victor to the floor, in their rear trash bin. He’ll phone in an anonymous tip from the disposable cell once they are a safe distance from the city.

            Sookie is just coming out of the Wal-mart as he arrives at their dilapidated truck, and he meets her there. There was a time when he could have scared her right out of her skin but just popping up beside her, but she felt him coming a while ago. She hands him a bag of clothes, then gets into the passenger seat of the truck. He slides in behind the wheel, and his eyes open wide when he sees her reach under her maternity dress and pull out two bottles ofTrueBlood.

             _‘I know that you’re gonna want one of these to get the taste of that melted mint leaf out of your mouth,’_  she explains.

             _‘You shoplifted them?’_  he asks, shocked.

_‘Well, I couldn’t very well buy a whole six-pack. That would have drawn attention to us. I left money in the carton.’_

_‘My lover…’_  he says gently, feeling her guilt and upset.

             _‘Don’t! I did what I had to do. I don’t feel good about it, but you needed it so I had to get for you. Considering everything else I’ve done in the last two years, stealing two bottles of TrueBlood seems like nothing.’_

But it wasn’t nothing and he knew it wasn’t nothing. His wife prided herself in trying to be a good Christian woman despite some of the things she had done in order to stay alive in his violent world. She’d killed. She’d lied. But this was the first time he knew of where she had stolen something. Oddly, it worried him, and he feared further associating with him and his ilk would rob her of the very moral compass that he found so endearing.

             _‘I do appreciate it, lover. Thank you,’_  he said sending his love and gratitude over the bond.

            She nods and grits her teeth, and he knows she won’t speak about it any more. He accepts the bottle of blood and downs it quickly as they pull out of the lot. He notes that she has also purchased food for herself: a sandwich and some of those fried potato crisps, and bottle of soda, so they will not have to stop for food on the way home.

            The truck rumbles and rattles as he pushes it to its limits in order to put as many miles as possible between them and New Orleans before Victor’s disappearance is noted. On the interstate, it shakes as if it is coming apart every time it goes above 70mph, and he desperately just wants to dump it into a swamp.

            About forty minutes out of Kenner, he gets off the highway and pulls the truck onto a road that leads to an isolated bayou that he had previously scouted out on a map. There he sheds his disguise and washes off the paint from his face and hands in the cold water. He also takes his sharp knife and cuts off his hair, using the razor Sookie bought at Wal-mart to shave off the rest down to his scalp.

             _‘Did I miss any spots?’_  he asks her, lowering his head so she can inspect his skull in the filtered light of the headlamps. It’s full dark now, and he is on alert.

             _‘No. Looks like you got it all,’_  she answers. She’s changed out of her costume too, and put on the jeans and sweater she bought for herself. He frowns at the pants, but it’s her way of telling him that she isn’t interested in sex right now, and as much as he would like to take her and work off some of his tension, they really do not have time.

            He piles everything: his clothes, her clothes, her prosthetic, his shorn hair, and her wig into one of their bags (but he keeps the cowboy hat because he likes it). Then he siphons some gasoline from the truck’s gas tank and douses the bag before setting it on fire. While the bag burns, he strips the truck and its engine of all identifying serial and model numbers and takes off the license plates. When it is ready, he heaves the pick-up into the swamp, and they wait for it to sink down into the dark waters. It disappears with a final rush of air, and he is satisfied that no one will find it unless they know where to look.

            Slinging their remaining bag over his shoulder, he picks up his wife and takes off with her. On Saturday night, after Fangtasia closed, he and Sookie headed south down I-49 almost to the I-10, where they stashed their Ford Taurus on a back road out of sight. He homes in on that car now and finds it just where they left it. He throws their bag into the trunk of the car next to the two containers of gasoline he stored there to insure that they will not have to stop to get gas before they are within a reasonable distance of home.

            There would be no sense in doing all of their planning, only to be caught on some security camera somewhere. The Ford gets excellent gas mileage, and it will easily do 100-mph without so much as a rattle, but he is sticking closer to the speed limit so as not to tempt fate. Sookie’s gift affords them some protection from speed traps because she can scan ahead for hiding traffic cops, but she isn’t foolproof. Still, he allows the car to edge closer to the triple-digit mark as he rushes them up the highway.

            Sookie is watching his hair as he drives. He drank the second TrueBlood after he’d shaved his head, and now his hair is regenerating quickly. The sensation is odd, and tickles, but re-growing hair holds none of the pain regenerating a limb or other body part entails. It has only been an hour since he chopped off his dyed locks, and he already has almost three inches of new, blond hair sprouting from his scalp. The growth seems to fascinate her, and he catches her staring at him numerous times when he glances over at her sitting next to him.

            “Am I entertaining you?” he teases with a small smile.

            “It’s just amazing how your hair is growing back like that,” she admits. “I mean, I can see it getting longer just sitting here.”

            “Um-hmm,” he agrees with a nod. “It’ll be past my shoulders by the time we get home.”

            “Wow.”

He chuckles and reaches one hand over to hold hers. Now that they have completed their mission, and are on their way back to Shreveport, he is settling down, and his mind is turning towards more pleasant pastimes.

             _‘Don’t you even **think**  about it Eric Northman,’_ she warns him, her thoughts hard.

             He sighs.  _‘No, you are right. We should get home as fast as we can. There will be plenty of time for us to have sex once we are in our Ruston Nest.’_

            She snorts and rolls her eyes, then sobers.  _‘Eric…’_  she begins cautiously.

_‘Yes, my lover?’_

_‘When you were… with Victor, I… felt you get really, really angry, angrier than I’ve ever felt you, and then later, after you’d gotten out of the truck to go back to Victor’s house, I felt you get that angry again. What was it that was making you so mad?’_

            He grits his teeth and grips the steering wheel tightly. Just thinking about answering her makes him rage again and his fangs run out.

_‘What is it?’_

_‘Victor planned to kill me and take you. He had a secret room in his house where he intended to imprison you and hold you against your will.’_

            She gasps, her eyes opening wide.  _‘Did you…’_

_‘I found the room. It was off the coffin chamber. He had placed a bed in there, outfitted with manacles. He was going to keep you there and force you to do his bidding.’_

            He sees her swallow hard and feels the queasiness transmitting through the bond as she fights not to gag.

            “Oh my God.”

            He nods gravely.

            She looks at her hands, her face stricken and worried. ‘ _But he’s dead now, right. **Dead** , dead?’_

_‘Oh yes. Very dead.’_

            She takes a deep breath and nods, her lips tightly pursed.  _‘Then I’m glad. I’m glad he’s dead, just like I’m glad Debbie Pelt and those damn witches are dead. Oh Eric, am I a terrible person for thinking that? No wait, don’t answer me. I should know better than to ask a 1000-yr old vampire a dumb question like that.’_

_‘That may be so, but I will answer it anyway. No, it does not make you a bad person for being glad that your enemies can no longer hurt you or those you love. I would have killed Victor a hundred times over if it meant that you would be safe.’_

She sniffles and nods _. ‘And I would have killed Debbie Pelt again if I had to.’_

            He squeezes her hand reassuringly.  _‘There is no shame in protecting those who are important to you. I have taken many bullets for you, and I have not regretted any one of them.’_

_‘I know, and I’m grateful.’_

_‘I would do it all again, my lover. I will do anything to keep you safe.’_

            She looks at him and smiles.  _‘I know.’_

             _‘I love you,’_  he tells her, meaning it and sending his love across the bond.

_‘I love you too.’_

            He leans over the seat and kisses her, keeping one eye on the road, not because he has to, but because he knows it makes her feel better.

            About another hour later, they have to stop to refill the gas tank in the Taurus so he pulls off the Interstate and stops the car on a private road somewhere in the Kisatchie National Forest. They are about ninety miles from Shreveport and making good time.

            “I’m gonna stretch my legs a bit, okay?” Sookie tells him as she gets out of the Ford.

            “Okay, but don’t go too far,” he says, opening the trunk to pull out one of the 5-gallon gas cans.

            “I won’t,” she promises and starts off down the road.

            He keeps an ear out for her and waits until he is pretty sure she is out of hearing range before pulling out his disposable cell phone. He quickly dials 911, knowing his mate would be very unhappy with him should she find out that he had framed “innocents” for Victor’s murder. Innocents indeed.

            “911. Please state the nature of your emergency,” the voice of the operator tells him.

            “You will find a set of bloodied clothes and a stake behind the Fellowship of the Sun Church in Metarie. They belong to the New Orleans vampire, Victor Madden,” he states in a disguised voice.

            “How do you know this, Sir?”

            He doesn’t answer. Instead he hangs up, pulls the battery out of the phone so it cannot be traced, and throws both the battery and the cell deep into the surrounding forest. He is done well before Sookie returns from her little walk, and she comes back to find him just finishing up with the gas tank.

            “Feeling better?” he asks innocently.

            “Yeah. My butt was starting to go numb,” she replies jokingly.

            He leers at her, his fangs down. “Can’t have that, can we? I have plans for your butt later.”

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just get me home first, you big Viking.”

            He snickers and bows. “Your wish is my command.”

            She rolls her eyes and gets into the car just as he slides behind the wheel again, turning the car on and putting it in gear.

            “Besides if we were to have sex in the forest, your butt would get covered in mud and leaves,” he points out.

            “Who’s to say you’d be the one on top?” she quips.

            He laughs all the way back to the highway.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 

            With good traffic, a decently fast car, and his “crazy driving,” they make it back to Shreveport before 10pm. By now his hair is about two inches below his shoulders, and it should be finished growing back by midnight or one a.m. Sookie has been so enthralled by it for most of the trip that he seriously considers shaving it off again just so she can watch it grow back, but he decides that now is not the time for games. Now is the time to establish an alibi to make sure no one knows they’ve been out of town since last night.

            He had previously made arrangements with Pam to cover for him at  _Fangtasia_  on Sunday night, and the staff at their other club,  _Stackhouse’s_ , knew that Sookie would not be there. The story was that they were celebrating their two-month anniversary since their January wedding, and they were taking Sunday off to be together. Both the bar and the club are closed on Mondays, so in reality, they were only taking one night off, and that should not arouse any suspicions. Still, he took care to pre-schedule certain emails and messages to make it look like he was at his Shreveport home well after 3am Monday morning.

            He parks the Ford half a mile away from their Ruston nest and turns on his regular cell phone. He’s had it off all this time so it cannot be traced, but he uses it to check his messages now. He is not expecting anything out of the ordinary because he left specific instructions that he was not to be disturbed, and his minions are well trained enough to know he means it. Much to his surprise and dismay, however, there are four messages waiting for him. Three are from Pam and one is from Sandy Sechrest, all left within the last two hours.

 **“Master, I have received a call from the King’s Louisiana Rep, Sandy Sechrest. There is a problem in Area One. She demands that you call her as soon as possible,”** is the first message **.**

**“Master, I have been to your house in Shreveport looking for you. You are not there. There is a problem in Area One. You must contact Sandy Sechrest immediately. I am going to Bon Temps now to see if you are there. No one is answering at the Stackhouse home, and neither of you are answering your cell phones.”**

**“Master, you are not in Bon Temps either. I know you have a secret nest, and I know you expressed a desire to be left alone with your mate, but there is an emergency in Area One. You must contact Sandy Sechrest immediately. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”**

            By the third message he can hear the tension in his child’s voice, and he knows that she must be very concerned for him. There is genuine affection between him and Pam, and he regrets leaving her out of the loop, but it was for her own protection. He promises himself to make it up to her once he discovers what Sandy wants. He fears that Victor’s disappearance has been discovered, and that some scrap of evidence has been left behind to implicate him.

             _‘But if that is the case, Sandy would not be trying to call me,’_  he reasons.

             _‘What is it? What is wrong?’_  Sookie asks.

             _‘Pam has left me three messages. Sandy Sechrest, the King’s Louisiana representative is trying to reach me. No doubt it is about Victor. I expected this, just not so quickly.’_

            Her eyes open wide and she trembles.  _‘You don’t think she knows we had something to do with Victor’s death, do you?’_

_‘If that were the case, she would not be calling me. One moment, my lover, please.’_

            He listens to the fourth message with his jaw clenched.

             **“Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five, this is Sandy Sechrest, King Felipe de Castro’s Louisiana Area Rep. You are to call me immediately. There is a problem in Area One.”**

            He mentally prepares himself and selects Sandy’s number from his contact list. The female vampire picks up on the first ring.

            “Yes?” the King’s rep says.

            “It is I, Eric Northman. I have received word that you wish to speak with me regarding a problem in Area One,” he states calmly.

            “Sheriff, are you well?” Sandy replies.

            The question surprises him, and he looks at the phone for a second before answering, “Yes, I am well.”

            “Where are you? Your minion has been unable to locate you.”

            “I am with my wife. We took Sunday off, and we’ve been out of touch to ensure our privacy. What is the problem?”

            “The Fellowship of the Sun has attacked the Sheriff of Area One, Victor Madden, at his home in New Orleans. He is missing and presumed dead. I have been instructed by the King to contact all of the remaining Sheriffs and to head the investigation regarding Victor’s disappearance.”

            “You suspect a plot to kill all of the Sheriffs,” he says astutely. This was something he had not anticipated, but it plays right into his hand.

            “Yes.”

            “Victor was a prominent vampire in New Orleans. He took over Sophie-Anne’s headquarters. It is possible he was targeted not because he is a Sheriff, but because he is such a recognizable vampire in the city,” he points out carefully, trying not to sound too interested or eager.

            “That is certainly feasible, and I hope to determine that during my investigation.”

            “Do you wish me to come down to New Orleans to assist?”

            “No. You are instructed to secure your Area, be on sharp alert, and to report any unusual activity within your Area directly to me. We must determine how big of a threat this is, and how far reaching.”

            “Of course. You have my full cooperation.”

            “That is good to know.”

            “Please keep me informed as to your progress and let me know if you would like my assistance,” he offers magnanimously.

            “I will.”

            She hangs up and he breathes a sigh of relief.

            “What did she say?” his wife asks worriedly.

            “Sandy has been put in charge of investigating Victor’s disappearance. She suspects that it might be part of a larger plot against all of the Sheriffs,” he replies with some amusement.

            He knows she did not hear Sandy’s half of the conversation so there is no need for her to know about the Fellowship just yet – not until he can spin it to his advantage. He knows she will be very unhappy when she finds out what he’s done.

            “So she was just calling to make sure you were okay,” she says.

            “Yes. I am to keep a sharp eye out for any danger.”

            “So… so far we’ve gotten away with it. No one suspects us,” she whispers.

            He shakes his head. “No.”

            “Oh,” she gasps softly. “Oh.”

            He can feel her coming to terms with what they have done, and the relief she feels now that it appears they are in the clear. He reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

            “It’s all right. It’s all going to be all right,” he promises.

            She grips his hand tightly, and he can feel her trembling. He lets her cling to him as he raises his phone to his ear and calls Pam. She also picks up on the first ring.

            “Master,” she says with no small relief.

            “Pam.”

            “You are well?”

            “Yes, and I have been in contact with Sandy Sechrest regarding the problem in Area One.”

            “She was most insistent that you call her immediately.”

            “She was concerned for my safety. It appears that Victor Madden is missing. His home was attacked and no one knows where he is.”

            There is no reason to believe that Sandy has told Pam anything. As a general rule, minions are not “in the know,” and it is likely that Pam has no idea why the King’s rep was looking for him.

            “I… see,” his child states carefully, and he does not need to be a telepath to know what she is thinking. He keeps silent on the subject.

             “We are to keep a sharp eye out for any trouble in our Area,” he tells her.

            “Are we expecting any trouble, Sheriff?”

            “No. Not at this time. Sandy has promised to keep me informed, and she will let me know if I can be of assistance in the investigation.”

            “Very good. Are you back in contact range?” his child asks.

            “I was always in range, I was just out of touch. In light of the circumstances, however, I will be available from now on. Feel free to call me if anything happens, but only if it is important,” he says, sending his regrets across the bond because he knows his wife will be disappointed that they will not be staying in their Ruston nest.

            “Yes, Master.”

            “I will contact you if I have need of you.”

            “Yes, Master. Thank you for calling. I am glad that there was no trouble.”

            “I appreciate your concern. I will see you tomorrow at  _Fangtasia_.”

            “Yes, Master. Have a pleasant night.”

            “I will. Good night.”

            He hangs up and turns to his mate who is frowning at him.

             _‘Forgive me but I don’t think it is wise for me to be out of touch right now. It will make it seem as if I have something to hide.’_

            She sighs and reluctantly agrees.  _‘I guess you’re right. I was just looking forward to relaxing in Ruston.’_

            He smiles.  _‘There is no need for us not to be able to relax at my house in Shreveport. But I do wish to stop at the Ruston nest. There should be some packages waiting for us there.’_

_‘Packages?’_

            His smile widens.  _‘Of course. It is our two-month anniversary, after all. Did you think I would let it go uncelebrated?’_

            Her eyes widen _. ‘I just thought you’d made that up as an excuse for why we didn’t want to be disturbed this weekend.’_

_‘The best plans are the ones based in truth. I had every intention of recognizing our special day.’_

The corners of her mouth turn up in a sly smile. _‘You just want an excuse to romance me so I’ll have sex with you all night.’_

             _‘I romance you every night. I need an excuse to pamper you and give you gifts,’_  he corrects.

            She huffs and rolls her eyes.  _‘Eric…’_

_‘Now, now, you can’t deny me, and you can’t tell me that you haven’t earned some flowers and a nice meal.’_

_‘Is that all you’ve done? Flowers and a nice meal?’_  she demands.

            He tries to look innocent as he starts the car and heads for their Ruston nest.

             _‘Eric…’_  she presses.

 _‘Well… there might be some small bauble included with the packages,’_ he grudgingly admits.

             _‘Bauble? How small of a bauble?’_

 _‘Very small,’_ he hedges.

_‘How small?’_

_‘Earring small.’_

_‘You bought me a pair of earrings?’_

_‘I didn’t say that. I said earring small.’_

_‘So you didn’t buy me a pair of earrings.’_

_‘What does it matter what I bought you?’_

_‘I don’t like you giving me lavish gifts, Eric. You know that!’_

            He cocks an eyebrow at her.  _‘I gave you a nightclub as a wedding present, and you’re getting pissy about a piece of jewelry?’_

 _‘I’m **not**  getting pissy,’ _she argues irritably, her eyes glaring daggers.

            They’ve arrived at the Ruston house, and he takes a moment to look at her before getting out of the car and going to the front porch. There are three boxes waiting for them, all untouched and all under the name of Tom Collins.

            Sookie is standing beside him, looking sulky, and he mentally counts to ten for patience, then he hands her the long, thin box for her to open. She holds out her hand for his pocketknife, and he places it into her palm with a little smile. While she is slicing open the box with the flowers, he opens the box with the gourmet food he has ordered for their celebratory meal. Nothing for him, of course, but he’s gotten finger foods that he knows she likes and a prime steak and a chocolate dessert. He is inspecting the box when he hears Sookie gasp.

            “Oh, Eric, they’re beautiful,” she whispers, pulling out the roses and lilies.

            He smiles and presents her with the third box, already opened for her to dig through the packing peanuts to find the smaller box within. She gives him an exasperated look before dipping her hand into the Styrofoam and rummaging around until she finds the present at the bottom. She creases her brow as she pulls out the narrow box and lifts the lid carefully to reveal the thin gold anklet with its small diamond-studded hearts.

            “Oooh, Eric. It’s lovely,” she says happily.

            It is a little thing, ridiculously cheap by his standards, but he knows that she loves it.

            “I knew you would like it.”

            “Are these real diamonds?” she asks, looking at the hearts carefully.

            “Just small ones.”

            “Oh.”

            She looks at the anklet for a moment more, then snaps it onto her left ankle. It looks a bit out of place sitting above her new set of tennis shoes, but his Sookie has always been a woman of contradictions. He takes her in his arms and kisses her sweetly.

            “Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Northman.”

            She leans into his kiss, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a good serving of tongue. He chuckles and pulls her closer, pressing against her as his body comes to life.

            “Mmmm. Thank you for the flowers and the anklet, but I didn’t get you anything.”

            “You give me yourself. That is enough,” he tells her, holding her dear to him because she is the most important thing in the world to him right now. She sighs and leans against him, her cheek pressed to his silent chest.

            “I’m sorry I was crabby with you,” she apologizes.

            He laughs and ushers her back to the car with the food and flowers.

            “It’s okay. I’ll let you make it up to me... in bed.”

 

88888888

 

            “We have identified Victor Madden’s killer,” Sandy Sechrest says coolly.

            She is sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk in his office in  _Fangtasia_. The door is closed and locked. He is sitting in his chair, his hands folded on the desk, and he is putting on his best “interested” face.

            “Oh?” he asks. It has been a week since his and Sookie’s trip to New Orleans, and he admits to being apprehensive and eager for Sandy to complete her investigation.

            “Yes. He has been tried and executed.”

            “Executed? It was my understanding that the culprit was a member of the Fellowship of the Sun,” he replies with some surprise.

            Sandy nods. “That was our initial belief, and the murderer went to great lengths to make us think the Fellowship was behind the attack, but in the end I came to the conclusion that only someone within Victor’s inner circle could have committed the crime.”

            “Oh really?” he says, trying not to sound overeager. If what Sandy is telling him is the truth, many, many problems have just been solved.

            “Yes. I was thrown off by the fact that Victor disappeared during the day, but now I have come to believe that is not the case. I believe that the culprit had a human accomplice who transported him to Victor’s house and put him inside before sunset where he could bind Victor and take him out right after sundown.”

            “Have you found the accomplice?”

            “Not yet, but I have a witness who saw a large, dark-haired man wearing a cowboy hat sulking around Victor’s house.”

            “Who was charged with the crime? Anyone I knew?”

            “No. He was a vampire who came with Victor from Nevada; Martin Gould.”

            He shakes his head. “I never met him.”

            “He was one of Victor’s minions. I determined that whoever killed Victor had an intimate knowledge of his habits and affairs. Martin had access to Victor’s computer and alarm systems, and he would have known the security codes.”

            “Codes?”

            “Victor had a failsafe code built into his security system. If the code was not inputted shortly after sunset, an alarm would go off.”

            “I see. Very clever. I should look into incorporating something like that into my defense systems.”

            “The logs for the security system show that someone deactivated the alarm system at 5:31pm, and reactivated it at 6:11pm. The failsafe code was put in at 6:09pm.”

            “Right after sunset,” he comments.

            “Yes. Combine that with the fact that the hard drive for the computer that stored the video from the hidden security cameras was taken right out of the case, I knew it had to be someone very close to Victor. The computer was kept in a secret room.”

            “Has the hard drive been found?”

            “No. It was nowhere in Martin’s personal effects, but I am not surprised. In all likelihood it is at the bottom of a swamp somewhere.”

            Bayou, actually, and in numerous, pulverized pieces, but he has no intention of telling her that.

            “Did an ecoplasmic reconstruction reveal that Martin was the killer?” he asks curiously, trying to sound interested.

            “No. A reconstruction was impossible. The witches we hired to perform it could not get a clear image of anything. Oddly, that was what made me look twice at Martin; he had strong connections to the magical community. That and the fact that I discovered that he was embezzling from Victor, it gave me enough evidence to convict.”

            “Did he confess to the crime?”

            “No. He protested his innocence until the very last, but that is nothing new. They all say they didn’t do it,” she answers with a bored wave of her hand.

            Yes, well, in this case the poor hapless fool was telling the truth, but he isn’t about to correct her. This whole situation is working out much better than he ever imagined. By charging and executing a vampire, Sandy has insured that he will never have to tell Sookie that he tried to frame the Fellowship for Victor’s death. He couldn’t have asked for a better outcome if he’d done the investigation himself.

            “But is it confirmed that Victor is dead?” he presses.

            Sandy nods gravely. “We are relatively certain. A set of Victor’s clothes were found behind the Fellowship church in Metarie. An anonymous caller dialed 911 and reported that they were there. They were in tatters and covered in blood, and I found what appeared to be vampire ash.”

            He lets out a deep breath through his nose. “Please forgive me if I admit that I am not distressed by his demise.”

            “I am well aware of your difficulties with the Sheriff of Area One, and in light of what I found in Victor’s house, I cannot say that I disagree with you.”

            “Oh? What did you find?”

            Sandy looks uncomfortable for a few moments, then answers in carefully chosen words.

            “It appears that Victor had an… unhealthy obsession with your bonded. I discovered a secret bedchamber with an iron bed outfitted with manacles. In the dresser drawer I found a collection of… mementos I believe belong to your bonded.”

            “Mementos?” he prompts, already feeling his anger rising to gorge his throat.

            “Yes. A scrap of latex presumably from the dress she wore on the night of your bonding announcement; the one that broke, plus several ripped pieces of lingerie with her scent on them, some personal effects, and a hairbrush.”

            He clenches his fist and scratches his nails on the desk. “He raided our garbage and went into my bonded’s home?” he growls. He will need to have words with his wife about rescinding certain invitations to her Bon Temps house.

            “It appears so. I suspect that he planned to take your bonded from you, perhaps even kill you, and hold her against her will.”

            He lets his fangs drop as he allows himself to feel the rage all over again. “Then be glad that Victor is already dead, for I would claim the right to kill him otherwise. As it is, I hope he died slowly.”

            “All indications from the clothes we found point to Victor being brutally tortured before he was killed,” she informs him without remorse or any expression of regret.

            “Good,” he states with finality, and he is glad that things appear to be over. “I am assuming that we will see our property returned us?”

            “Once the investigation is closed, we will be sure to give all of the items we found back,” she agrees.

            “Thank you. And thank you for giving me this information.”

            “I felt obligated to tell you since it appears that Victor intended to do you harm and harm your bonded.”

            “I am glad that he is no longer a threat to us, and that you found your murderer.”

            Sandy smiles, but the smile is cold and cruel. “I am a very good investigator. Martin thought he was being clever by trying to implicate the Fellowship. I suspect he was even the one who phoned in the anonymous tip. But no one in the Fellowship would have known Victor’s codes or about the failsafe. Once I figured out how he had managed to get into the house before sunset, the rest was easy.”

            He nods. “I commend you on your proficiency. I am sure the King is very pleased with you.”

            Sandy rises to her feet. “He has no reason to complain.”

            “Are you headed back to New Orleans now?”

            “Yes. I am overseeing the installation of the new Sheriff.”

            “Excellent. Has a successor been announced?”

            “Yes. Felipe has chosen Jonathon to act as interim Sheriff on a probationary period. If he performs satisfactorily, he will be kept on in the position. If not, he will be replaced. The King has big plans for New Orleans, and he will need someone competent overseeing his interests there.”

            He nods, glad that Felipe has given no indication that he wishes  ** _him_**  to take Victor’s place.

            “I understand. Thank you for coming.”

            “I will see you next time I make my rounds. Hopefully I will see your lovely bonded as well.”

            “You must come to our new club.  _Stackhouse’s_  is becoming quite the place to be.”

            Sandy smiles. “So I have heard. But then I would expect nothing less from an astute businessman such as yourself.”

            He ducks his head in a show of feigned modesty. “You are too kind.”

            “And you are too canny. Have a good evening.”

            He stands to give Sandy a proper bow of respect and moves to unlock and open the office door for her.

            “You have a good evening as well. Safe travels to New Orleans,” he says, holding the door open for her to pass through.

            “Thank you. I will see you soon. Good night.”

            “Good night,” he repeats and waits for her to leave the office before closing and locking the door again.

            Once she is gone, he waits several moments to see if she is bluffing or trying to catch him in a trap, but he hears her car drive off, and he allows himself to relax a fraction. Slowly, he feels the tension draining out of his body to be replaced by triumphant euphoria.

            They have gotten away with it. Someone has been tried and killed for the crime, and now he and Sookie are in the clear.  He cannot help but feel jubilant and grateful, and he makes plans to go sweep his wife off her feet so they can celebrate just as soon as he finishes up some paperwork.

            He returns to his desk to complete the invoices he was going over, but he cannot help but lean back in his comfy chair and put his feet up on the desk in contentment. Almost involuntarily his hand goes up to stroke his Hammer through his shirt, and he offers up a silent prayer to his Goddess for watching over him.

_‘Thank you, Hlin, for taking care of your servant. I am in your debt.’_

            He feels a little tingle of power flash through the Hammer before it settles down again, and he smiles smugly to himself as he digs into a pocket in his jeans to get what he wants. Grinning with self-satisfied pride, he picks out his teeth with a toothpick.

FIN


End file.
